


last year's wishes are this year's apologies

by Lambourn



Series: collect the bad habits that you couldn't bear to keep [1]
Category: Roswell New Mexico (TV 2019)
Genre: Alex Manes is a unreliable narrator, Alien Prison with reference to past assault, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Background Relationships, Canon Divergent from 2x01, Case Fic, Caulfield is a horror, Communication, Communication Failure, Compliant through 1x13 only, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Fake Dating Your Ex Because of the Feds, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Grief/Mourning, How to rebuild a friendship, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Introspection, Investigations, Jesse Manes is a War Crime, M/M, Miscommunication, Noah Bracken was a well respected lawyer, Not Actually Unrequited Love, Past Relationship(s), Pining, Post Season 1 Fix-It, Post-Season/Series 01, Slow slow slow burn, ex-lovers to fake-lovers to friends to real lovers slowburn, product of too much Investigation Discovery, prominent member of the community goes missing, the spark on this slow burn started in a shed in 2008
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-14
Updated: 2020-06-25
Packaged: 2021-02-28 01:28:32
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 25
Words: 178,186
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22705480
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lambourn/pseuds/Lambourn
Summary: Alex thinks he knows what he’s getting into when he bars law enforcement from searching the Airstream while he waits for Michael. What’s worse than pretending to be in love with someone that you’re actually in love with- only trapping yourself together with your ex, all while your ex is talking about moving on-- with your best friend. Cool, cool, cool.
Relationships: Michael Guerin/Alex Manes, Michael Guerin/Maria Deluca (the canon 1x13 scene)
Series: collect the bad habits that you couldn't bear to keep [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1814491
Comments: 1587
Kudos: 724





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Here it is, the story I've been posting glimpses of on Tumblr since September/October. I could not have written it without the supportive comments, messages, and reblogs from the RNM community. Beta thanks go to tasyfa and maura for whipping it into legible shape. Any errors you find are mine alone because I often fiddle after a chapter comes back from beta.
> 
> Extra special shout out to ninswhimsy who held my hand, read through the roughest of drafts, and sent me crying emojis every time I dropped a scene in her message box.

The Anbar Province left more than a physical mark on Alex. 

He had learned lessons there, both big and small. He could separate premonition from subconscious recognition. He could type accurately from the footbed of a Humvee with no discernible suspension while a squad-mate bled out next to him, locked in the importance of the mission. He could also wait patiently during the long hours that stretch between the spikes of adrenaline and monotonous boredom.

Roswell had so far tested two out of three of those skills. 

The disquiet left over from last night’s storm aged and blossomed from a vague feeling of wrongness to outright certainty. The mid-morning sun was edging overhead, and soon would start its slow slide toward the horizon as he kept his vigil outside the Airstream for Michael. ‘ _Come back tomorrow, we’ll talk then_ ’ was a promise that had had Alex reaching for his favorite black leather jacket for comfort. 

He refused to imagine it as armor. Not every conversation was a war, but he was ready to fight for Michael. Staying away had not kept anyone safe. It just robbed him of time he could have spent happy. 

The crunch of gravel lifted his eyes from his phone, as a Chaves County sheriff’s cruiser pulled into Sanders's followed by one dark colored nondescript sedan. 

Michelle Valenti had always been kind to Alex in the past, like her husband had been. When he was growing up, she was always quick with an encouraging word. When she noticed his eyes trailing to the photos of a happy family that dotted the Valenti house, she was mindful that his own house was bare of such sentiment. He never minded when strangers mistook her for his mother in joint outings with Kyle as children. The New Mexico sun baking them both dark and alike, another set of twins like the Evans kids. After Jim’s death, she had quietly shut down any talk of challenging the will and property transfer of the hunting cabin to Alex. It was only at her insistence that he even accepted the keys in the first place and allowed the lawyer to finalize the will’s dispersal. 

Her eyes were still kind as she stepped out of her vehicle, but her face showed no sign of friendliness. This was official business. 

As always his mind flashed to the worst case scenario; Michael was not here because he was dead. There was no known family to notify, just his employer. Max had to be dead too to leave this to his boss. Isobel had kept her connection to Michael quiet. Alternatively, were they all caught by an arm of Project Shepherd that he had missed? Last night’s glimpse of Michael, he had been covered in blood, and then called away by some painful telepathic urgency.

Alex clocked the dark sedan as a government issue, raising more alarm in him.

Swallowing hard, he stood from the chair. “Sheriff, what brings you by?”

Two men exited the sedan, both dressed in similar versions of off the rack dark business suits. The flare at the hip and shoulder nearly hid the firearms strapped to them. Definitely federal agents.

“We’re looking for Michael Guerin.” She peered toward the closed door of the Airstream. “Is he here?”

“He’s not here.” Alex stepped closer to the doorway of the Airstream, subtly blocking entry. He did not give himself time to feel relief that at least Michael was not dead or in custody. “What’s this about?”

Agent Bland Number 1 stepped forward holding out an ID with a shield. “Agent Rollins. Mind if we look around?”

Alex stiffened at the casual question. “Actually I do mind. Do you have a warrant?” There was no telling what sort of research on the ‘47 crash Michael had left out, but he was well aware that a blood soaked shirt was still on the camp bed from last night. 

Agent Bland Number 2 unbuttoned his suit jacket to pull his own ID out with a glance to the Sheriff. “I’m Agent Ross. We have permission from the business owner to be here, son.”

He bristled at the ‘son’ and reached for his identification. “Captain Manes, United States Air Force, and you may have permission by Mr. Sanders to be here, but that Airstream is a residence with an expectation of privacy, and you need a warrant to enter it.”

“Is it your residence?” Agent Rollins asked, his eyes flickering to Alex with a disbelieving sneer.

Great, a government homophobic agent. What the hell was Michael into now? He saw Sheriff Valenti stiffen at the undertone by him. In for a penny, “Michael’s my partner, so yes this is also my residence.” He flicked a glance at Michelle Valenti, seeing no surprise on her face and met the eyes of Agent Rollins unflinchingly, “I did not give this country 10 years and my right leg to allow my rights to be trampled. So unless you tell me what’s going on, this has been a lot of fun but it can be continued with my lawyer.”

“Alex,” Sheriff Valenti cautioned. “We might have gotten off on the wrong foot here. We just need to talk to Michael, since his name came up in a routine missing persons investigation. I had to request help from the local field office because we're a little short-handed here in Roswell.”

Fuck. A missing persons investigation where Michael’s name was brought up could only mean Noah Bracken. It was too much to hope that Max Evans had competently covered for his absence while they held him in a pod. A prominent well respected attorney could disappear for a day or perhaps two, but it had been close to four or five days since the gala. 

The few details he had from Michael during that ill-fated drive to Caulfield were mainly focused on the frustration he had that Noah was out of reach in stasis. With Liz’s serum coursing in Noah’s veins, he could not be questioned on their origins without accelerating the decomposition. Michael had mentioned it had been Isobel’s decision, exercising a long overdue power over Noah.

The ride home from Caulfield had been entirely silent; wondering what they were going to do with the likely lone surviving alien with knowledge of their origins seemed out of place. 

Alex certainly would not miss Noah Bracken, but that did not mean the community would not. Barely 12 hours into the damage control of Caulfield, and he had a new problem to add to the list. 

“Who’s missing?” 

“Do you know a Noah Bracken?” Confirming Alex’s suspicions about the visit.

“Everyone knows Noah Bracken. This is a small town. He and his wife sponsor or fund most of the main events around here. In fact the reopening of the UFO museum was just the other night that they hosted.” Alex glanced at Sheriff Valenti. “Your own Deputy Evans is his brother-in-law. Is that why the call for federal involvement? Conflict of interest in the department?”

“Deputy Evans took a week of leave after the gala, and yes, his personal relationship to Isobel Evans-Bracken does disqualify him from the inquiry.” 

“I still don’t understand what this has to do with Michael and what makes this a missing persons case? The whole town saw him the other night.”

“The ‘other night’, son, was five days ago and that’s the last time he was seen in public. He was due in court for a case yesterday. His secretary said he would have never missed court. His wife told his office he’s on a fishing trip to Heron Lake, but we have no credit card or cell tower data that says Mr. Bracken ever left Roswell. We have reason to believe from a witness that Mr. Guerin might have been the last person to have contact with Mr. Bracken.”

It was careless of them to hold Noah in a pod without knowing his court calendar and public appearance schedule intimately. Keeping the cell phone turned on was truly amateur hour as well. Alex was reminded abruptly that Michael and Isobel were civilians, and Max’s operational experience was likely limited to speeding tickets, warrant serving and drunk and disorderlies. Detaining a suspected enemy combatant for intelligence gathering was more in line with his own resume.

This was the type of battle he had left Roswell at seventeen to learn how to win.

Warily Alex kept his expression even and natural, choosing his words carefully with his knowledge of events. “Michael and I were together, here last night. The last time Michael mentioned him was the gala. So I can tell you, personally I haven’t seen Noah around in a while.”

Agent Rollins exchanged a glance with his partner. “You’re willing to swear to that? That Mr. Guerin was with you last night?”

“Yes, we were together last night, and I spent all day with him yesterday.” 

“You said everyone knows everyone here. Are you aware of any deeper connection with Mr. Bracken? A personal relationship?” Agent Ross picked up, and plastered on an amenable smile with the suggestive question.

“Michael is friends with his wife, but I don’t know of any other connection.” 

Agent Ross sharpened, “How friendly with his wife would you say he was? Small town has a lot to say about Isobel Evans-Bracken, and we’ve heard a lot about their close relationship.”

The Roswell gossip circle strikes again. Without the public acknowledgment of being foundlings together, it probably did look a little odd to the average bridge club members about why a society wife and fundraiser spent so much time with the local bar brawler. He knew with good reason why they kept their kinship secret but it was still inconvenient when rumors swirled about a carnal relationship instead of a sibling one. He remembered his curiosity about them in high school. Later, he had gotten his answer from Michael in the form of a sweet kiss at the museum. 

Alex bristled at the implication, “Michael’s not a cheater, and we’ve kept our relationship quiet for the sake of my career and his safety. Like you said, this is a small town.”

Agent Ross looked up from his notebook, and commented blandly, “Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell was over a while ago.”

“It wasn’t when we started.” Alex smiled humorlessly, and extended his hand to Sheriff Valenti, “Michael’s off looking for a part, but I’ll let him know to contact you about setting up an interview with our lawyer.”

“We just want to clear this up, Alex and find Mr. Bracken. No one is saying he’s in trouble. We’re on our way over to Max’s next.” She squeezed his hand meaningfully, before turning away to steer the agents back to their vehicles.

Agent Rollins ignored Alex’s hand pointedly, “We will get to the bottom of this, Captain Manes. And if need be, we’ll be back with a warrant to search this place from top to bottom.” 

Long practice with bullies and his father kept him unyielding when the other agent stepped close in an attempt to intimidate. “You do that.”

He waited until the cars pulled clear of the entrance to Sanders's before bringing his phone to his ear.

No answer from Michael’s phone. It went straight to voicemail the way it had this morning when he had first tried to call. He mashed the disconnect button. He didn't have Max's number. The next best thing was Liz. He was not the praying sort, but he really hoped Liz was not at her laboratory in the hospital with no signal. The second thing he needed to do after locating Michael was gather everyone’s phone number. 

“Alex, hey-”

“Are you at Max’s?” Ignoring her greeting. He had a vague impression that Max lived outside of town. It might be a thirty-minute drive at best to circle around the industrial side of Roswell. The acres of Sanders's Salvage spread along flat scrub brush fields to pick up the highway which snaked onward toward the desert basin. Michael, in a post-coital sleepy discussion of his friends, had indicted Max had set up house there in the barrens. They had both laughed about moody wannabe English majors living in isolation, attempting to channel J.D. Salinger.

“No, I’m on my way to Rosa’s memorial. Why? What's going on? If it’s about Noah, he’s dead now, Alex.” 

Alex swore softly. The missing persons case was about to become a murder investigation. This day just kept getting better. “Two feds just showed up at Guerin’s place looking for him. They are on their way to Max’s. I don’t know what’s going on, but I can’t reach Michael.”

Liz was quiet for a moment, “I left Max at his house a while ago, but he said Isobel was pretty messed up about this. Michael is either with her, or maybe try the Wild Pony. He has been spending a lot of time there.” There was another, this time deliberate pause, “With Maria.”

Things were still awkward with Maria. Learning about Texas had left him feeling out of sorts, in a strange limbo of being hurt but without having grounds for his wounded feelings. Giving her his weak excuses for avoiding the gala at the UFO Museum only highlighted the new distance between them. 

He knew how the world worked for him. He wasn’t exactly ready to see Michael in his ‘whole lot of casual sex’ mode with his best friend, but it was becoming clear that he wouldn’t be lucky and find Michael with Isobel. Swallowing hard, he forced himself to take a deep breath, and turned the ignition on his SUV. 

“Okay. I'll check the Wild Pony. Can you call Isobel or better yet, text me her number. These agents are looking for Noah, I’m sure she’s their next stop. She needs a heads-up about that and make sure Max knows too, we need to keep this investigation from getting too big.”

“Alex, wait, before you go there. Maria said she was going to talk to you about the whole thing. You’re both my friends, okay? I missed out on a lot when I was gone, but I don’t want this-”

“I guess she told you about what happened,” he interrupted, the sinking feeling filling his stomach. Alex could hardly believe that Liz was worried about how he felt about a one night stand when there was a dead body somewhere and a police investigation starting up. “Yes, Michael is my museum guy. Yes, I know they both got drunk and slept together in Texas. Yes, I have cleared this up with Maria, it’s a little uncomfortable but we’re all adults. She didn’t know about us so no harm, no foul. Just, warn Isobel for me, and when this is over we can get back to talking about my love life.” 

“O-kay,” Liz drawled elongating the syllables. “I'm going to go do that. Good luck.”

“Thanks.” He ended the call, and tried Michael's phone again. No one answered. 

*** 

The parking lot to the Wild Pony was almost deserted, too early for the typical foot traffic of the dinner crowd and booze-that-replaced-dinner patrons. He easily spotted both Michael’s truck and Maria’s truck sitting side by side near the back entrance, matched in their classic antique body styles. The door was propped open, and he could hear the strains of an acoustic guitar coming from inside. A few notes were stumbled over, but then rang true, as if the musician were still learning.

It was Michael playing, and he was playing one of the songs they had both learned together side by side in the back of his truck, parked out by the football field in high school. The previously ruined wreck of his left hand was steadily, but more skillfully than the old injury allowed, picking the frets in the song’s bridge. 

The damage from his father was gone. Erased, and he had to assume by Max sometime last night. 

This was worse than being shot, Alex decided, as he watched mutely from the dark hallway. He had almost bled to death on the roadside in Iraq and had felt less at that time than he did now. Michael was smiling, playing the guitar and looking up over toward the bar, where Maria was sure to be sitting. 

We’ll talk tomorrow, he had been promised, but it was his own stupid fault for not clarifying the conversation with Michael. This whole time he had thought Michael had heard the declaration under his words when he had said ‘I shouldn’t have left you behind’ and ‘I don’t look away’. Perhaps he should have been clearer, telling him that it meant ‘I’m yours, whatever is left of me, can’t you see that’. Alex forced his eyes shut for a moment, and had to consider that maybe he did understand. Maybe it was his hubris that blinded him to the possibility that Michael still wanted that after all this time. 

Maria stepped into his view, staring down at Michael as he played. Her eyes fixed first on his left hand, before she reached out, not toward his healed hand, but his face. 

Michael’s eyes slipped closed as she trailed her hand along his rough stubble jaw then turned upward, burying her fingers into his curly hair. His fingers stilled on the strings as he tilted his head up in an unspoken appeal. She smiled and tipped her chin down to meet his mouth with a soft kiss.

_“It meant nothing, Alex.”_

The care in her touch was more than the aftermath of a ‘drunk, dusty, no-good’ encounter. This was definitely worse than getting shot. 

Alex swallowed hard, dropping his eyes down to his hands. It did not feel like that much time had passed since his own hand had mapped a similar path, since his own lips had found Michael’s. His conceit struck again because it had been months. The fault was his on that as well. While his heart told him to turn and leave, to let Michael handle the consequences of the investigation, his mind reminded him that what he wanted had not mattered yet since returning to Roswell. 

He had this instinct with Michael that he could not appear to break. It held him still next to him in Caulfield as a countdown to death ticked closer. It had him stepping forward blocking the door to the Airstream and tossing ten years of secrecy aside to claim Michael as his in the face of federal agents. The connection, cosmic or not, overrode every good self-preservation instinct Alex had for the sake of protecting Michael. He could no doubt trace it back to the moment that Michael had stepped in front of him, saving his life in the shed as teenagers.

The karmic scales had always tipped away from Alex after that night. Except now the devastation and trauma of the event was gone from Michael’s body. 

Michael broke the kiss unhurriedly, licking his lower lip and then shifting the guitar in his lap. He started to strum another song, a familiar old country love song. 

Alex forced his numb hands together to clap once, twice in a faux applause; he had watched quite enough of his heart fracturing into pieces. There was no way he could stand silent while Michael played Patsy Cline to Maria.

“Alex,” Maria greeted in scalded surprise, stepping quickly away from Michael. They both turned to face him in a united front. Her worried brown eyes dipped toward Alex and then away. 

He forced a smile onto his lips, “I’m sorry to interrupt.” It was true, he was sorry for so many reasons. “I just need to borrow Guerin for a moment.”

A frown crossed Michael’s face as he gently handed the guitar over to her. “This will just take a second, darlin’. S’okay.” 

They were both his family, Alex reminded himself, as he pushed down the shocked hurt at hearing ‘darlin’ directed to someone that was not him. It was only a matter of time that his bullshit would get old for everyone involved. It had gotten old inside his head a long time ago. He summoned the memory of icy emotional control, when he had forced himself to fall in line for drill practice as a resentful teen. Clinging to that brutally learned lesson, he kept his lips upturned in mimicry of a smile through sheer force of will, and stepped heavily back into the hallway to the opened door. 

“What the hell?” Michael asked, as they broke through the doorway into the dry desert air. “I know I said we’d talk later, but didn’t expect you to track me down like this.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t have but this is important, Guerin.” 

“Clearly. Well, I’m listening.”

Alex took a deep breath and looked out toward the main road. He kept his gaze on the horizon, studying the silvery gleam of pavement. “You’re in trouble. Someone reported Noah missing, and Sheriff Valenti called in the local federal office for help.”

“Missing? Noah’s dead.”

“I know, and I hope to God you and Max hid his body well. Two FBI agents showed up to question you at Sanders's while I was waiting for you.” Alex glanced away from the main road to fix on a point on his shoulder, avoiding Michael's eyes. “Sanders gave them permission to be there and look around, but I kept them out of your home.”

Just beyond the two trucks was another standalone pick up parked under a scrub tree. A large black vulture swept down from the power line to wrest its claws on the roof. 

Michael rubbed a hand through his curls tiredly. There were a few faint lines of sweat cutting through the dust that clung to his neck and the shadow of several days without shaving. His shoulders were set with the weight of a man who had not had much sleep in the last two days. It said something about his set of priorities that he was even at the Wild Pony with Maria. From the looks of him, Michael should be horizontal sleeping off the events of Caulfield and subduing the threat of Noah.

“Feds, fuck me. This is officially the longest 24 hours of my life.”

Alex lifted his eyes briefly to Michael’s before turning back to the road again. Safer on all accounts. He focused, as a white cruiser followed by a black sedan broke into the horizon line. “I might have told them we lived together. I wasn’t really thinking, I just wanted to keep them out of your home.” The white cruiser grew closer, with the distinctive brown and white marking of a county vehicle. Fuck. It was only a matter of time before the sheriff started checking the local bars to locate the most frequent occupant of the drunk tank.

“You what?” Michael gasped out, and then groaned louder than the idea of them living together really warranted. Like the night before, he grimaced in visible discomfort, reaching for his temples. Unlike in the trailer it was only a moment, before he dropped to the ground.

“Michael!” Alex turned and caught his elbows before he hit the gravel lot face first. His hip barked painfully at him as he supported the practically dead weight in his arms. The Chaves County cruiser turned into the lot, followed by its dark mirror government counterpart. 

“Max… Max.” Michael moaned softly. 

This alien business was going to send them all into early graves. Alex dragged him toward the outside bench, and shuffled until his body kept Michael shielded from view. He slipped an arm around him to support him loosely and turned Michael’s face into his neck protectively. “Fuck. Guerin… shh,… But the cops are here. Shhh, I’ve got you.”

Instead of parking near the cluster of the SUV and the trucks, the sheriff parked next to the lone truck in the lot, startling the vulture back into the sky to circle the Wild Pony. A sharp whistle from Sheriff Valenti and a gesture, beckoned the dark suited agents over to the truck. A loud radio call barked from the receiver on the sheriff’s shoulder, “DOA. Call forensics. Possible 1-8-7.” 

Fuck, there was no way that was a good sign, he thought. 

Michael continued to shudder in his arms, shaking in unseen agony. His forehead pressed against Alex’s neck, gasping hoarsely and wetly, “It’s... Oh, Max, oh my god, what did he do?” 

“I’m sorry… I’m so sorry.” He tightened his grip on Michael and tracked Michelle Valenti as she started toward. “Listen, they’re coming. They are going to want to talk to you, but don’t tell them anything okay? I'm getting you an attorney, and I will be your alibi. Just stay quiet or say you were with me. I’ll get you out of this.” Alex buried his fingers into the sweaty curls, tipping Michael’s face toward him, “Remember Michael, say nothing without an attorney. Or say you’re with me. Okay?”

Michael blinked, his unfocused eyes sharpening at the sound of his name as tears slipping down his face. His gaze tracked over Alex’s face, taking calm in the fierce protection he found there. Softy he breathed, “Okay.”

Alex shifted until they were somewhat upright on the bench, as Sheriff Valenti drew closer, with Agent Rollins not far behind. 

“Captain Manes, looks like you found your boyfriend.” Agent Rollins smirked, taking in the grip they had on each other. “I'm afraid we have more than just some questions about Noah Bracken to ask him.”

Alex bared his teeth in a semblance of a smile, “Ask all the questions you like, once our attorney gets here.”

Michael pulled away slowly, with a ghost of coherence. “I've got nothing to hide, but... I've got a lawyer on the way.” He set his left hand on the bench and leveled himself up, tucking that hand into his jeans, “We can wait together at your office, Sheriff Valenti, if makes you feel better. I seem to recall you guys have a nice furnace, no point in freezing my ass off here.”

He watched as Michael stepped heavily toward the cruiser with the sheriff. An EMS vehicle and a coroner’s van rolled into the parking lot next to the truck. Officials started to swarm around the truck, yellow tape rolled to set up a perimeter. The human activity kept the vulture away, but a second bird joined the first on the power lines to hold a vigil. 

It was strange to consider the dust from the Caulfield explosion might not be the low point in his week. 

* * * 

Alex kept the tail lights of Michelle Valenti’s cruiser in his sights as he followed them away from the Wild Pony. His phone felt heavy in his hand, as he dialed and waited. 

“Torres.”

“Hey, it’s Alex, you busy?”

“Hey man, this call is early, your discharge isn’t for three months.”

“You predicted I would need a lawyer after I left the service?”

“I saw you took a desk position in Roswell, man, and you forget, I have met the Master Sergeant once. So what kind of defense do I need to put on for you? You thought he was an intruder so you shot him a few times in the dick then threw him down the stairs?”

Alex smiled, amused for the first time that day. “My dad is unfortunately alive and well, but in Africa. I'm not calling for me, but I do need a lawyer. Can you meet me at the Chaves County Sheriff’s office in Roswell as soon as possible?”

There was a pause on the line, and the distinct sound of paper rustling, “I don’t know, Manes. I've got a few things on the docket for later this week to prep.”

“I’m calling in my favor, Mark.” He heard a quietly muffled ‘fuck’. The sound of the paper moving abruptly stopped. 

“If I leave now, I can be there in three hours.”

“I’ll see you in exactly three hours, then.” 

* * *

Liz, not surprisingly, did not answer when he called. Whatever was going on with Max could not be good. Scrolling through his call log as he locked his SUV at the sheriff’s office he was alarmed to have four missed calls from Kyle and then a new incoming one. “Finally you pick up! I need you, like now.”

“I’m a little busy at the moment, what’s going on?”

“Oh you know, nothing much. I ran some errands, picked up my dry cleaning, then I got shot in the chest by your psycho dad in our secret clubhouse, so it’s the fucking usual for Roswell.” 

Alex closed his eyes, and rested his hand against the car. This day. “Did you just say you got shot?”

“Oh good, you were paying attention. I thought I was being followed last night, and then this morning I set a bit of bait for a trap. So I left the door unlocked, kept my back to the entrance, and figured the secluded location away from civilians would be too tempting a target. So I think I've been hanging out with you too much because of all this sounded like a good idea to me, except now, I don’t know what to fucking do since it worked.”

“Kyle. Breathe. Slowly.” Alex took a deep audible breath for him to mirror and let it out on the line. “Are you okay?”

“No, I am not okay but I'm also not dead, so I should probably answer that with a yes.”

Kyle was talking a lot for a guy who had been shot. Alex had some firsthand experience with shock. He pieced through his words and tried to zero in on the important details. “Where’s my dad? Is he still there?”

“Yeah, he’s going nowhere.”

He reopened the SUV and slid back in behind the wheel. There were at least three hours to kill before the federal agents could talk to Michael. He could in all likelihood use it to his advantage in formulating his own alibi. “Okay, leave the body to me. I need you to go be visible somewhere with a security camera and an entrance log, like go to work. I would say work on medical charts, and don’t actually see patients. Your hands are going to shake for a bit.”

“My God, Alex, he’s not dead.”

It certainly said something about him that his first feeling was not relief but disappointment. “Okay, well you just told me my dad tried to kill you, so forgive me if I thought you might have tried to kill him back.”

Kyle laughed weakly. “Believe me, if I thought I could do it, I would. But at the end of the day, I’m still a doctor. He’s sleeping off a massive dose of barbiturates.”

“How long is he going to be out?” 

“I gave him enough phenobarbital that he should be out for a couple of hours. His pulse is still pretty strong, and respiration is even. It was a crap shoot whether he takes any medication that could cause a fatal drug interaction, like codeine or Warfarin.”

“Hmm, a pity. I guess I have to remind dear old dad why he should have stayed out of Roswell. There’s some zip ties next to the monitor, secure his hands and feet to a chair, I’ll be there in about five minutes.” Gripping the bridge of his nose tightly, he hung up and kept driving toward the Project Shepherd bunker. 

His father alive and back in Roswell were two more problems that needed solutions. He was not sure if he could let Jesse go, with two federal agents already investigating Michael. The red level terrorist threat bulletin that the Master Sergeant somehow created would negate the favor he called in to get Michael legal representation. Terrorists can be arrested and held indefinitely. No need for a lawyer if there was never a trial.

A clear memory of their last interaction came to mind when his father had asked, “Why now? Why today of all days?” 

It was hard enough to face himself in the mirror and not see all the ways Jesse Manes had molded him, now he could hear himself making the same dry observations. Was it any wonder he had found Michael at the Wild Pony?

That thought was prudently shoved back into the box ‘to mourn later’ after the first three crisis scenarios were dealt with. 

* * * *

Kyle was sitting in a chair with Jesse stretched across the main table in the bunker. His fingers were resting on his neck, monitoring his pulse against his watch. Alex could scarcely believe it, the level of care extended toward a man who had killed his father and attempted to kill him. High school really was ten years and to the left of everything.

“Wow, I guess I wasn’t the only one setting a trap today.” Kyle looked up from his watch with an exaggerated double-take at Alex’s clothes. 

He was entirely too old to blush, especially in front of his unconscious father and his former high school tormentor. Alex lifted his chin in challenge, “I don’t know what you are talking about.”

“Sure you don’t. You are wearing a black leather jacket, a crimson cashmere sweater and fuck me jeans. You’re a thirst trap. Lemme guess, Guerin?” 

“It’s not cashmere, and please never say thirst trap again.” Alex examined Kyle in turn, lingering over his shirt. No visible blood stains. “What happened? Where did he shoot you?”

Kyle pulled his hand away from the Master Sergeant, and pulled his shirt up revealing a plain black Kevlar vest with shining round gleaming in the middle. “I guess my paranoia paid off when I bought this last night.”

“Jesus Christ, Kyle. Do you realize how lucky you are?”

“Yeah, I think I might have cracked a rib.”

Alex shook his head, and reached out to unfasten the vest. “Well for one, most of these hunting shops don’t sell professional grade Kevlar. The odds of you buying some cheap knock off from China are extremely high. For another, he could have shot you in the head.” His hand brushed over the darkening skin from the impact bruise. “You’re lucky he was always a state-side paper pusher and only learned to shoot center mass.”

Kyle brushed his hand away, and tugged his shirt down. “If you're trying to comfort me, you suck at it.”

“So I've been told.” Alex dropped his gaze down to the slack features of his father. The stillness in his body was pressing on old wounds he still had from his childhood. The quiet was always accompanied by a rage filled strike. He could predict the amount of pain coming his way based on the range of his voice. The lower his father’s voice got, the worse it was. 

There was always comfort in Michael’s energy, he was rarely still or quiet. The bluster and the dramatic remarks were so far from how Jesse Manes operated that his triggers laid quiet and slumbering around him. 

“So what now?” 

“Do you have more sedatives on you? Or better yet, opiates? I can induce an overdose and leave his body to be found.”

“Please tell me you’re joking.”

Alex replied flatly, “I’m joking of course.” 

Most of the time he felt like Kyle’s medical training had shaped him into a better person. He cleared the low bar of high school homophobic teen with ease and then some. It was times like this he resented the nobility and the higher code of conduct he had adopted. Another serviceman would have seen the efficiency in removing a threat. “Well since you don’t want to do this the easy way, for now we need to keep him secured and out of the way. There’s an increased police presence in Roswell, your mom called in the feds because of Noah and now Michael is being held for questioning. I can’t allow dear old dad up and around while that’s going on.”

“It concerns me that you think killing your father is the easy way.” Kyle sighed, stepping away from the table. “Death is pretty permanent, Alex. There’s no take backs on murder.”

“He’s a monster, Kyle! More than even I thought was possible- and I was raised in a house where broken bones and belt lashes were a daily occurrence, twice on Sunday. Do you not remember what we just found in Caulfield? That’s my dad’s handiwork on people he doesn’t consider human, which was just a step away from how he treated his own flesh and blood.”

“Our dads didn’t start Caulfield, that was the government for all we know and I know what he did to my dad-”

“I swear to God if you tell me they were just following orders-”

“No, of course not. I'm just as horrified as you that my dad worked with the Project for a minute, let alone for years. Even if he changed his mind later, there's no taking back his initial mistake. There are some sins that never leave you, and that’s all I’m saying.”

There was no arguing that point. Once upon a time he brought a boy back to a shed, and for years he had tried to redeem himself for that mistake. Becoming someone strong, coming back to Roswell to put his father in his place finally, only to find Michael bitter and rootless, just where Alex had left him during his infrequent leaves. He had fought his father’s battles and it had meant listening to Michael play Patsy Cline for someone else, whatever battle won still meant a war lost.

Yesterday he had brought the same boy to his mother only to watch her die. Some sins indeed.

“I’m back to my original question then, how long can we keep him sedated?”

Kyle frowned, looking down at Jesse Manes. “It’s risky, more sedative could cause him to stop breathing. I don't exactly have a respirator on hand. If we take him to the hospital, they'll just run tests and wait out the barbiturates. He would be awake by tomorrow morning is my guess, and released by tomorrow night.”

“That’s not enough time out of the way. The feds have Michael for an interview until probably tonight, but there’s no way they are leaving town until they find Noah and since he’s dead, that will only turn up the heat.” 

“It’s a shame we can’t just stick him in a pod.”

Alex blinked. “Well, why can’t we?”

“Because… for argument's sake, he’s human. I don’t know if you can put a human in a pod. I have no idea if stasis would affect us the same way as an alien.”

“What if it did? You said I shouldn’t kill him, and this keeps him out of the way.”

Kyle rubbed his jaw measuredly in consideration. “Well, if you can get Max, Isobel, and Guerin on board, it would solve one problem while we deal with the Noah problem. I still can't believe that guy was an alien serial killer. He was so normal, and he sat on the board of the hospital’s charity endowment. He was right under Max’s nose the whole time.”

“Max. Damn, I forgot to tell you. There’s something wrong with Max, I think. Michael had an episode where he nearly collapsed earlier. One of those, if something bad happens they get flashes type of thing. Have you talked to Liz?” Alex pulled out his phone and frowned at the lack of signal in the bunker. 

“I did this morning, I had to stitch her up last night, and I wanted to make sure she was alright. She said Max healed her with his magic hands and since then, I have been busy getting shot at-- and the fact that those words just came out of my mouth makes me really hate my life decisions right now.” 

The edge of hysteria was starting to creep back into Kyle’s voice. Alex straightened with a purpose and moved toward the main computer console. The spare cable ties from his last go around with his father were still resting near the keyboard, waiting to be properly utilized in updating and neatening the wiring in the bunker. He was done leaving things to chance, slipping one plastic tie into a cuff to attach to a second tie. 

“Okay, first things first, you call Liz and see what’s going on with Max, I’ll keep my dad secured here while I deal with Guerin and the cops. I don’t know if the sheriff has brought Isobel in for questioning yet, but once I get him released, we’ll regroup about housing my dad in a pod.”

Kyle moved with him to roll his father’s unconscious body off the table into a chair. He picked up the discarded syringe, carefully capping and removing the needle to pocket for disposal. The black Kevlar vest with the bullet sat neatly next to the table along with Master Sergeant Manes’s gun. “Right. Regroup.”

Alex fished the firearm holster off his father, and secured the gun, before tucking it out of sight in the backpack. He grabbed Kyle’s arm, turning him to meet his gaze. The previously jittery movements from before were all but gone. “You did the right thing. You always do.”

Kyle smiled wanly. “I've got a code.”


	2. Chapter 2

There was an intersection after leaving Kyle at the bunker where a left would take him home to the cabin and right would take him back into Roswell proper to the sheriff’s office and Michael. Sitting at the light, Alex wished he was someone else. The mild complaints from his right hip had morphed into outright spasms in his lower back. Tonight, if it ever arrived, was going to require more than a pair of muscle relaxants to ease the abuse he had dealt out to his body, and if he were able to place himself first, he should have turned left. If he were someone else. It was a thought that had recurred many times over the years. He still turned right. 

Alex had a code too, and Michael had always been the key.

Returning to the lobby, he found Isobel pacing back and forth with her arms wrapped tightly around herself. Her typical put together persona was missing, her long hair sported escaping locks from her braid and her arms and ears were bare of jewelry. As soon as she caught sight of him slipping into the door, she was by his side instantly. “Michael said you know everything, so I hope that means you know what is going on right now.”

His exposure to Isobel Evans-Bracken up until this point had been limited to three brief encounters. The tense meeting with his father before the embarrassing parade the town put on for his homecoming, seeing glimpses of her going in and out of his father’s office at the base for the veteran’s fundraiser, and finally, hearing her voice call out that last peaceful morning he had experienced waking up with Michael. He certainly would have handled that morning a lot better had he realized just what tied her and Michael together. That was his hope at least.

Alex scanned the lobby briefly for signs of Agent Rollins and Agent Ross, before gesturing to the side door that led to the alley. As soon as the door clicked shut, he met her impatient gaze steadily, “Sheriff Valenti asked for federal assistance after your husband’s secretary reported him missing. Supposedly they have an eyewitness claiming they saw Noah and Michael together after the gala, making him the last person seen with a dead man. The FBI wants to question Michael about it.”

Isobel gripped her elbows rigidly. “I guess it’s not enough that he took my body murder-walking, lied to me, and tried to kill everyone, now he’s going to get us dissected in a lab.”

“No one is getting dissected, okay? I have a friend who is a lawyer coming to get Michael out.” He watched some of her nerves calm, her fingers loosening in her hold. “Are you okay though? Michael had an episode earlier, he said something happened to Max?”

Tears glinted in her eyes as she nodded. “I was on my way to him when Sheriff Valenti pulled up and said I needed to come here to answer questions. I don’t know what happened to him, but I can't feel him anymore.” Isobel bit her lip roughly, swallowed a soft sob. “Max and I are connected, I’ve only felt this once before because of Liz’s serum.”

“I've tried to call Liz, but her phone is going to voicemail. Who had access to the serum?”

“Just Liz, and I guess, Noah, but he’s dead.” Isobel tilted her head up considering and narrowed her gaze on Alex. “Michael also told me your family likes to hunt and capture aliens. That your family tortured and killed other crash survivors.”

Straight to the point, even if that point was knife-honest, was exactly what he expected from Isobel. There was nothing he could do but be just as honest in return. 

“He was right. The Manes family has been doing this for generations. My father and my brother are definitely threats to you, but I'm not. Family to me hasn’t meant blood relation for years, okay?” He took a deep breath, it was only marginally easier to say separate from a countdown. “Michael is my family, by extension, you and Max.”

Isobel dropped her hands to her sides, loosening her protective stance against him and gesturing toward the closed door of the sheriff's office. “So how are we getting Michael out of this?”

Alex warmed at the inclusion. “First, I need your help in finding out what exactly those agents know, and then I need you to contact Michael with your connection. I presume you are able to reach him?”

“Line of sight works best with humans. I should have no trouble getting into their heads to see what they know. I’ve had a lot of practice lately,” Isobel observed darkly. “Getting Michael into my mind-space to talk will be a little harder, but I can try.”

“Good. Agent Rollins mentioned that there were questions beyond Noah’s disappearance. I think there was another body found at the Wild Pony. I don’t know how all this ended with Noah, but I think he must have added to his body count and the feds are looking at Michael for some reason.” Alex dug his fingers absently into his hip for relief and shifted his weight to his left.

“Noah was using human life force to increase his powers. It’s something we had no idea we could even do. So much about who and what we are mysteries.” 

Seeing the pain in Isobel’s face match the devastation that Michael showed after the Caulfield explosion, reawakened the guilt in him. If only he had scouted alone, if only he had known just what his family had been doing outside of surveillance. There were no take backs on murder, as Kyle reminded him. 

The Manes family legacy now included near genocide.

Firmly Alex shoved those thoughts back, and concentrated on the present issue. “Michael’s lawyer is a couple of hours away still, and since I gave him an alibi the agents aren’t going to let me talk to him. They don’t want us to get our stories straight.”

“I should be the prime suspect, it’s always the wife in these things.” Isobel pulled open the side door, and held it. Her early distress had slipped away, with a new resolve taking over. “I guess it’s time to find out why I got upstaged.” 

* * *

It was slightly disconcerting to see Isobel’s mental powers in action. She had found a corner of the lobby that had a clear line of sight into the window of an empty conference room, housing the visiting agents. The small layout of the Chaves County sheriff’s office in Roswell worked in their favor, with a front desk, dividing the public entrance from the pair of glass offices for Sheriff Valenti and conference room. There was, around the corner out of sight, another room of desks for the deputies, and then the processing desk with the modest “drunk tank” and finally a holding cell where Michael was waiting.

Alex massaged his aching right knee as he watched Isobel work on the mind of Agent Rollins. Outwardly her face was calm, her eyes were open, almost as if she was staring into space. The only sign that something was happening under the surface was her index finger vibrating lightly in her lap in a slight stroking motion. 

On the other end of her gaze, Agent Rollins was slowly sipping at a Styrofoam cup of coffee. Manila folders, white paper, and photographs were neatly stacked around him on the table, with a discarded pen next to his hand. It looked normal until Alex realized that the agent had been sipping at the same cup for the last ten minutes, having long since finished the coffee.

It was lucky that Agent Ross had left for a late lunch break, and Sheriff Valenti herself was closed in her office. 

Isobel stirred, breaking her gaze with a soft inhale. Her hand disappeared into her boho bag, pulling out a large silver flask. The sharp scent of chemicals wafted over as she drank deeply before wiping her mouth carelessly. “Ugh that guy is a pig.”

“I’m aware.” 

She lifted her chin in challenge, and gave him a measured look down her perfectly straight nose as she recapped the flask. “Michael didn’t tell me that you guys got married.”

Alex lifted his eyebrow, “That’s what Agent Rollins thinks? That is more storybook romance than I was expecting from a JosABank wearing fed.”

“Agent Rollins thinks your gay relationship is the backbone of the moral decay in this country, and he is personally irritated that he has to honor you as a wounded veteran.” Isobel wrinkled her nose in disgust. “Like I said, he’s a pig. But I saw how you stepped in front of the door when Rollins showed up, how fiercely you defended my brother in the face of their questions. I saw how you held Michael at the Wild Pony when they came to take him into custody. Very romantic.”

Embarrassment settled inside as he remembered how he had found Michael at the Wild Pony in the first place with his best friend. As raw and painful as the last day had been for Michael, losing his mother, surviving an attack by Noah, none of that had been visible from Alex's shadowed view point at the bar. All Alex could see was his joy, exhausted and fragile, but joy, nonetheless, to kiss Maria and be touched by her.

He could not remember the last time Michael had faced him without walls and defenses. 

All of their conversations were battles, all of their encounters were wars. They were confined in the trenches between his military service and Michael’s chained responsibility in Roswell, between his need to protect Michael from his father and to protect his own heart. 

Alex stayed silent a moment too long, judging from the increased interest in Isobel’s gaze. He pushed down his memories, refocusing on the present. “What else did you see? Anything important about the investigation?”

“They do have an eyewitness, that wasn’t just fishing for information. Someone said they saw Michael arguing with Noah outside the scrap yard last night, and that Michael left with Noah in his truck headed toward the desert.” Isobel kept her voice low, mindful of the semi-public exposure of the lobby.

“That’s impossible. Noah wasn’t anywhere near Sanders's last night, and Michael left the yard alone.” It was a moment Alex had replayed a few times today; in hindsight he should not have let Michael leave alone with those flimsy words of ‘come back tomorrow, we’ll talk then’ between them. 

“I know. Their eyewitness is apparently an airman though. Do you know the name Jacob Clarke?”

“This is worse than I thought.”

“You know him?”

“Yeah, he used to live next door when I was a kid. He was a friend of my dad’s, which means they are trying to get Michael transferred into federal custody. This has got to be a part of Project Shepherd.” 

It occurred to him that the explosion at Caulfield and his father’s presence in Roswell actually were coincidences. To have someone ready to spark federal interest in Michael meant this was not seizing an opportunity as it happened, but that perhaps it had been in motion prior to the night before. Noah’s disappearance after the gala was the catalyst for his father’s arrival. He had to wonder what the next step would have been had Jesse been successful in killing Kyle. Would he have been next? 

Remove the only two humans his father knew of that had knowledge of aliens, while gathering up the aliens themselves under the guise of a missing persons case. The destruction of Caulfield hadn’t slowed this operation down, which meant there was assuredly another alien detention center in operation ready for new specimens.

Isobel fiddled with the flask in hands, and whispered harshly, “That body by the Wild Pony they found today? It was Hank Gibbons. They think they found hair on his body consistent with Michael’s. I could feel how happy this made Rollins. He thinks he won the lottery, like he thinks he started with a missing persons case but it's turned into a murder. He wants to look at all the deaths in Roswell.”

“If there is hair on the body belonging to Michael, this is definitely a frame up and Project Shepherd is behind it. If they look into hand-print deaths, they are going to find all of Noah’s victims.” Alex leaned forward, digging his thumbs into his closed eyelids tiredly before straightening with a deep breath. “Okay. For now, let’s keep things as simple as possible and stonewall them.”

“How?” 

“So far this has been a legal investigation under the guise of trying to get Michael, and no doubt you and Max as well. We just stick to the alibi I gave him. The eyewitness isn’t enough for an arrest or to compel hair and blood samples, not in the face of my sworn statement. I need you to share all of this with Michael though, so he knows what to say.”

“I can try, but Michael’s spent the last ten years making sure I couldn’t get in his head.” Isobel glanced sideways at him, “I thought for a long time it was because of you, that he wanted to keep me from knowing about your relationship. This glass closet of protection. Turns out, it was me he was protecting, hiding the memory of the night Rosa died.”

Alex smiled tiredly. “That sounds like Michael. He protects those he loves fiercely.”

“Seems like you have that in common. Okay, here goes nothing.” Instead of staring straight forward as she did to access the thoughts of Agent Rollins, Isobel shut her eyes and exhaled. Invisible bonds of tension released in her posture, her eyes moving restlessly behind her lids. After another moment, she frowned in frustration and then reached for Alex’s hand. “Sorry, he won’t lower his defenses. Or can’t. It’s like a maze of walls, but they’re made of symphonies dueling with mathematical proofs.”

“He’s got all that chaos inside him, and it’s loud.”

Isobel opened her eyes sharply, and eyed him again with respect. “Exactly. I'm going to need you here with me, I think.”

Before Alex could question exactly what that entailed, he felt a heaviness sink over his body. It was like those moments at the end of a dream, where he knew he could will himself awake in a moment, or he could let another fantasy take him to a safe place. Most of the time discipline and the need to be useful pushed him to surface into wakefulness, but once in a while, he indulged his mind for a moment.

There was a vague awareness of the sheriff’s lobby still present, people would occasionally enter and exit the glass door. A phone would ring in the background. None of it really mattered as important, as the walls morphed and rippled. 

_“Michael, we need to talk.”_ It was Isobel’s voice, but instead of coming from next to him, it was like he was hearing it with his fingertips, vibrating up his arm. There was no answer as the vibration continued, increasing in intensity. “ _Michael, Alex needs you.”_

Between breaths, Alex was suddenly aware of not just Isobel next to him, but Michael standing before him. The vibrating energy ceased without warning. Michael looked younger, his golden brown curls were well tended and short. His beautiful long fingers were clasped around his elbows, and those soft honey-brown eyes met his unafraid. It was close to how he remembered him from high school, looking over at him from the grip of his brother’s guitar.

 _“Good. I've got your attention now.”_ Isobel pressed out a pleased satisfaction, the feeling brushing against Alex’s mind gently. “ _We need you to listen, Michael. This is important.”_

_“Iz are you okay? You feel different.”_

Impatience and shocked hurt spilled out suddenly from her, jarring them both. _“I am different, I don’t have Max... I am not okay. None of this is okay. ”_

Michael hardened, losing some of his soft edges as he shrank inside himself. _“Sorry, this is hard... I haven’t done this much, Iz. Not since…”_ Overwhelming grief washed over them. A flash of a golden haired woman with Michael’s smile drifted between them.

Caulfield Prison. The press of their hands, glowing red and gold as the old woman shared her mind in those last minutes. 

Alex gathered his thoughts and then focused them, pressing them into words to push through the cloud of inordinate sorrow. _“Michael, this is important, I gave you an alibi, remember? These agents are looking for Noah. They have someone willing to lie about seeing you with Noah last night. They found a body today at the Wild Pony. Noah killed Hank Gibbons. Someone is trying to frame you for it.”_

_“You told them we were together last night.”_

_“That’s right. You couldn’t have been seen with Noah, I told them you were with me. You couldn’t have killed Hank, I told them you were with me.”_ It was harder than he expected to communicate this way; his mind kept discarding his first and second choices of words. He wanted to say it plainer, more declarative, as if it were the absolute truth that Michael needed to repeat, but he couldn’t. _“They know Noah’s movements up until the gala. You’re going to tell them that you drove Maria home, and then we went to bed in your Airstream. Maria can vouch for you at the gala, and I will vouch for you afterwards. Tell them we spent the next four nights together at your place or if you think Sanders knows your comings and goings, tell them about my cabin. I don't have neighbors. Last night in particular, Michael, tell them we were together all night.”_

Alex could feel frustration licking at his fingertips, and he could not tell if it was his own at the clumsiness in this medium teasing at his ear or if it was coming from Michael, annoyed at being in the mind-space with Alex.

_“You’re lying to the cops, Alex. They could arrest you. You can’t be with a criminal, remember? What happens to your life if you are the damn criminal?”_

_“I know what I'm doing. Stay consistent, don’t deviate from that. This is important. This is your safety.”_

More frustration rolled over them, crashing against Alex’s mind. “ _You always know what you’re doing and I never have a damn clue._ ”

_“I'm just trying to make this right. For what happened before. I wasn’t careful then. With you.”_

_“Is that all this is then? Responsibility? Guilt?”_ More overwhelming grief tinged with helpless anger swelled between them, washing over their words. There was a disconcerting echo of ‘my fault, my fault’ without an idea of origin.

 _“No! I love you. There is nothing I wouldn’t do to protect you and I would give anything to have this story be true, that you were mine all along.”_ Alex froze, paralyzed. Those were not the words he had intended to form and lay out before both Michael and Isobel. He could not stop the wave of panic and shame that dropped over him. Frantically he shoved at Isobel’s mind, _“Let me go. We've covered all the bases. He knows what to say now.”_

The walls suddenly filled and solidified around him. A tear slipped down his cheek, as he shoved those feelings, inadvertently rattled, back down inside. Isobel took one look at his expression, and tugged him into the unisex bathroom past the conference room. 

“I forgot to warn you. You can’t lie in the mind-space.”

Alex turned the taps to cold and grabbed a paper towel to soak. He really hoped most of the passers-by had not been watching as he suddenly broke down into tears over nothing. He could only imagine how strange it looked from the outside. “Thanks for that. I figured that out when I couldn’t stop from humiliating myself.”

“He loves you too, you know. It’s not a bad thing for him to hear,” Isobel observed compassionately, watching him press the wet towel under his eyes.

“It is when you consider the fact I found him at the Wild Pony with Maria. He... he wants to be with her. Not me. And, I guess I can’t blame him after what my family did.” Alex stared at his reflection in the mirror, avoiding the shape of his jaw, the curve of his forehead to his eyes that stamped him as Jesse Mane’s son, and instead searched out the parts that were solely half-remembered traits of his mother. She wasn’t a saint, leaving under the pressure of Jesse’s abuse but at least she was not a monster herself. He could relate to the need to escape.

“Deluca? Seriously?” Isobel made a face, and fished out her silver flask to take another swig of acetone. “I don’t understand him.”

“Hey, there’s nothing wrong with Maria. She’s one of my best friends.” God, he was not looking forward to that inevitable conversation with her about Michael. If he thought their one night stand had created distance with Maria, this was infinitely worse. She liked Michael, and it was clear that Michael liked her in return. The arrival of the police had postponed the conversation he most wanted to avoid. He could consider that the sole bright spot of the morning. Though knowing Maria as he did, she had probably left him a message.

It was not Maria’s style to retreat; it was his. The truth was, he had never needed to use that defense with her. Not everyone in Roswell was comfortable around someone who could intuit their secrets with just a glance, but Alex had never minded. Unlike Jesse, whatever Maria learned from his aura and emotions, she welcomed and embraced it. 

She had been so proud of him when she had learned about Museum Guy. It had reinforced her tireless argument that he was lovable, that he wasn’t alone as a queer teenager in their virulently over-masculine town of military and cowboy aesthetics. Now she must have some understanding of how rough-edged barfly Michael Guerin could be the same quietly brilliant lonely boy that had kissed him into what she termed ‘crazy stupid love’. 

“Is she though? I presume she knew about you and my brother, and she still put the moves on your man.” 

“It’s complicated, and really beside the point. He is an adult and single.” Alex fastidiously dried his hands, keeping his gaze down. “She is just smarter than I was, because she let him in.”

“Well, just to warn you, every time you said her name, I could feel this stab of pain and so could Michael.” 

He crumpled the paper towel, a bitter laugh escaping. “This day just keeps getting better.”

“Tell me about it. I spent the last ten years of my life living a lie, then I met and married the serial killer who made me his pawn. And I loved him. Now, Max has done something extremely stupid, probably because of Liz Ortecho, and I can’t feel him. Michael is the target of some alien hunting operation,” she pushed open the bathroom door and held it. She raised her voice to a theatrical level of playfulness as she caught sight of the waiting FBI Agents Ross and the lesser liked Rollins. “I guess if I am trapped here for the afternoon, at least it’s with the hottest most unattainable man in Roswell.” 

“Thanks.” He rolled his eyes, barely able to keep up with her mercurial mood swings. Alex had to wonder for the moment if there was a situation that Isobel couldn’t manufacture a smile for. From shaking hands to aloof flirting, he could not help but be impressed.

“Who said I was referring to you?” Isobel reached out and casually straightened his jacket collar. “I could be into cheap JC Penney’s suits, you know.”

“Mrs Bracken?” Agent Ross interrupted, “If you don’t mind answering some questions, we’re trying to locate your husband.”

“It’s Isobel, please or Ms Evans-Bracken if you must.” She smoothed her skirt, and smiled grimly at Alex. “Guess it’s my turn again.”

“You don’t have to talk to them without a lawyer, Isobel.” 

“Captain Manes, good to see you again.” Rollins cut in, his gaze narrowed at Alex’s comment. “Guess your better half found that part he needed at a bar, huh?”

Alex lifted his brow innocently, “I never said he was repairing a car, Agent. He’s a gifted mechanic. He can repair anything that has a motor. You can ask him about that yourself once our attorney gets here.”

“Can’t wait.” He opened the office door, and gestured. “This way Mrs Bracken.”

“I don’t know what else to tell you. My husband left the morning after the gala, telling me he needed some time away, and he was going to go to Heron Lake to fish. I have no idea why he didn’t cancel his court appearance.”

Agent Ross pulled out the chair, “No one goes fishing in December.”

“I assumed fishing was code for an affair. You do know what code is, right?” The rest of Isobel’s sarcastic reply was muffled by the closed door. 

For someone a little less homophobic, Alex would have wished him luck in his endeavors of trying to rattle Isobel. In this case he was only sorry he didn’t have a good vantage point to watch the interview, as Agent Rollins pulled the blinds shut in the conference room.

*** 

Alex adjusted and stretched his back against the hard plastic seat. The decor and unyielding benches at the sheriff’s office were a crime on their own. The tension of waiting for hours earlier at the salvage yard was catching up to him. Between that and the undecided solution to his father’s unconscious body in the bunker, it was any wonder he had cuticles left. 

Tonight’s dose of Percocet was very far away.

It was endless and almost paralyzing to think about the possible avenues of the conspiracy that he needed to examine. He needed to formulate a plan to combat the exposure. First, he needed to follow up on how his father was able to run a prison, have his Army-commissioned son transferred from overseas, and pay the staff to house elderly aliens all entirely off the books. Project Shepherd was to watch Roswell and it was shuttered in 2010. There was another Project up and running, unnamed in the data he had examined after sending his father to Niger. The military pull to requisition an ordinance expert of Flint’s expertise meant this was likely Pentagon level and made him feel like sending Jesse to Niger was akin to making a move in checkers, when it was clear his father has been playing chess all this time.

Developing a weapon that was still in beta might even mean there was congressional oversight. Although, how they got past the safeguards on biological weapon development gave Alex chills to consider. It went a little beyond a line item on a requisition bill for $2500 toilet seat covers, but that really meant food, man power, and utilities. 

Flint had run for the exit, without stopping to gather the same research and drives he had directed Kyle to swipe. He would have never left the only copy of his work, or the only prototype of his weapon on-site for destruction. It was in beta, not on-site, and he needed to know more about what his brother considered ‘beta’. Did it just make an alien sick? Did it make everyone sick and kill aliens outright? Would he end up with an off-season flu and then have to watch Michael impossibly sicken and die?

He considered it possible to survive Michael moving on to someone else, even his best friend. Painful but a wound that would eventually heal even if he could not picture it now. Michael’s death, worse, a genocide orchestrated by his father was something Alex knew he would not be coming back from. 

There was a bottle of Dilaudid in his medicine cabinet, prudently hoarded for the worst case scenarios that his mind often teased him with in the night.

To think he had only had two problems keeping him up last night, what to do about his family’s ongoing efforts against the aliens and worrying about his talk with Michael. Ironically Michael had painfully solved the issue of them talking, but with one solved, three more had grown into place. Something was very wrong with Max, there was a federally sponsored conspiracy to frame Michael along with Isobel, and his father, the root of evil, was currently lying unconscious in the bunker thanks to Kyle. 

It was sloppy only checking to see if Jesse had arrived in Niger. He should have set up more routine surveillance of his movements. At the time, it had been hard to believe the obsession about aliens was more important to his father than his career or public image. The last time Alex had run into an immovable antipathy with his father was when Jesse realized he was gay. 

Hunting aliens in Roswell was on the same scale as his father’s obsession with trying to change Alex, and that was more than a little disconcerting to realize.

Either the threat he had waved against Jesse’s career was not strong enough in terms of his fixation, or it his father thought it was not enforceable. Turning him in on running the Project Shepherd illegally should be grounds for dishonorable discharge and a stint in a military prison, but what if there was immunity in play from the current weapons project status. “We’re in beta” was a terrifying proposition.

His thoughts were broken thankfully by the arrival of the cavalry he had called. Mark Torres pushed open the glass door and strode over to him after sweeping his cover off his head. His six-foot figure cut an impressive sight in a dark service uniform dress. “I knew the day would come when you called in this favor, I just figured it would be for saving your own skin.”

“Thanks for coming… sir.” Alex’s eyes focused on the new insignia. “Jeez, I missed your promotion. Sorry about that.”

“I think you were recovering from almost being roadkill in Fallujah. Anyway, I’m here. Where’s my client?”

“They’ve got him in a cell, alone. Only one interview room is open at a time, I guess, but he’s innocent, Mark.”

“I got that part, since you called me.” Torres lifted his heavy black eyebrows in question. “We’re all worthy of a robust defense but you know my thoughts on criminal justice.” 

It was true, that Mark Torres was a big believer in the letter of the law if the law was grounded in sound justice. When his younger brother had been implicated in a trumped-up article 134, after he had publicly backed up a female airman's allegation of sexual harassment, the only thing that had stood between the younger Torres and a dishonorable discharge was Airman First Class Alex Manes vouching for him on a night in question. It had meant falling back on his family name and contacting his father to survive his own inquiry, but Alex had done it. Mark had glimpsed the blackened boot shaped bruises on his torso during an awkward ‘thank you’ meeting. “It’s Michael.” 

Torres’s face cleared suddenly. “The Michael? Okay. Well let me go get him out of this mess.”

*** 

Once Major Torres had disappeared down the hallway to the holding cell with Michael, it was only a matter of time before the interview room opened up. Isobel strode out of the room with a smug smile. Somehow, an hour of talking left her looking more composed than she went in, as if talking circles around investigators invigorated her instead of wearing her down.

“Are you okay?” Alex asked, testing the layer of composure.

Her mask dipped for a moment, “I held the line with their questions, so I'm not under arrest either. But as for okay, no, nothing about this day or week has been okay. Liz… Liz called. Actually she has called me 28 times while I was being interviewed. I have to go.” Isobel glanced back toward the holding cell with a torn expression. 

“I’ll stay here until they release Michael.”

“Good. Come find me whenever that is. I think… I think this is about to get a whole lot worse.”

He studied her face and looked past her to see Kyle stepping into the station, scanning the occupants before stepping toward them purposefully. “I think Liz sent you the cavalry.”

“Oh good,” Isobel purred with a bit of effort, tucking her handbag commandingly under her arm, “I’ve got eye candy that is at least straight.” 

A bark of laughter was startled out of him, as he watched them both leave. As he turned to resettle his leg against the bench, Sheriff Valenti stepped just outside her office with a gesturing signal, “Do you have a minute for a talk, Alex?”

“Of course.” Alex turned toward the conference room where the agents had interviewed Isobel, expecting that it was his turn for a more formal questioning.

“My office is fine, the chairs are more comfortable, I promise.” She smiled warmly, pulling out a battered padded armchair for him. “We haven’t really had a chance to catch up since you came home.”

Half of Alex cynically recognized the disarming tactic of a ‘good cop’ interrogation, while the other half of him remembered how important Kyle’s mother once was to him as a child after his mother left. “That’s true. I think the last time we spoke was when you handed me the keys to Jim’s hunting cabin. I'm still grateful you let me have it, Sheriff.”

“He wanted you to have a safe place to go, here in Roswell.” She glanced down, grief shadowing her eyes briefly. “We both did. Of course, we didn’t know about Michael Guerin. It was more than a little surprising to me this morning to find you at his trailer.”

Alex smiled, relaxing now that he knew this was an interview, just informal on the surface. “It’s like you said, I needed a safe place here, and you know that’s not possible living with my dad. I'm sure you can guess why.” 

“So you kept your relationship a secret because your father wouldn’t approve?”

“Wouldn’t approve? That’s putting it mildly.” He raised his eyebrow in a caustic disbelief. “Come on, Sheriff. I'm not underage anymore and I outrank my dad here, so let's just stop with the pretense. My dad is a violent, homophobic dick who hates me. Why would I put Michael on his radar when I was halfway around the world unable to protect him?”

Chastened she sat back in her seat. “I’m sorry, you’re right. Jim suspected what was going on at your house growing up, but your father has a way of gaining the upper hand.”

Details clicked into place for him regarding the cabin bunker. The hidden memory box filled with mementos about Rosa Ortecho and the in house detox and rehab supplies that Jim had hidden away. “My father was blackmailing him.”

“This is an elected position, Alex. We wanted to help you as a child, but Jim had his secrets. Your father knew them. I thought I knew his secrets too, but recently I've started wondering if I did.”

Alex took in the framed awards that lined one side of her office wall. The gleam of gold lettering script spelled out James Esteban Valenti with dated citations for public service. Nestled between the aged awards of her dead husband were a few more personal pictures of Kyle at various graduation ceremonies, and finally sporting a white coat of a doctor. It struck him as a little odd that she did not display any of her accolades. 

Family was what was important to her it seemed. No doubt the same was true of Jim before her. He thought about the old picture of a Rosa held in the arms of a Sheriff uniform. The uniform connected to the secret daughter, all in the background of running an alien prison with Jesse Manes. 

“My father is very good at finding out where you’re vulnerable and then applying pressure until you do what he wants. He will even allow you to think it was your own idea.” He smiled self-deprecatingly, “How do you think I ended up in the Air Force in the first place?”

“It must have been very hard on you and your relationship to be long distance for so long.” Her warm sympathetic words did little to relax his guard. Perhaps she was hoping to disarm him with an empathetic ear as she once did when he was a child. “Keeping him a secret from everyone sounds lonely, for the both of you.”

“It was harder on Michael. I had the benefit of imagining him safe from harm, he wasn’t so lucky, and I was often deployed in places with communication blackouts.”

“I guess that explains why I had the pleasure of his presence in my drunk tank on an almost weekly basis.” Sheriff Valenti paused, watching him closely for a reaction before continuing smoothly, “You did know about his troubles with the law? Drunk and disorderly, resisting arrest a few times, gambling, misdemeanor assault. People say Guerin has quite the temper when he drinks.”

“I’m not exactly a saint either, but my crimes were all sanctioned by the government.” Alex smiled blandly. “I know what you’re trying to get at, that Michael has a history of violence, but you’re wrong. He’s a good person.”

“He has a long questionable history of bar fights that Deputy Evans has managed to keep from turning into official charges.” She shook her head sadly. “Maybe he doesn’t show you this side, but it speaks of a very angry and volatile young man.”

“I’m sure he had a good reason for every one of those fights. Listen Sheriff, I know, personally, what a violent man looks like, and it’s not Michael. He’s gentle, and he is protective of those he loves. He wouldn’t hurt someone and I wouldn’t be with him if I thought he was capable of it.”

Sheriff Valenti thoughtfully considered his comment for a moment. “Protective… do you think he’s protective of Isobel Evans-Bracken?”

“Of course. He’s protective of all his friends.”

“We know Isobel was hospitalized for a short time before she disappeared into a rehab facility. And I know that her husband was sitting exactly where you were during that rehab stay demanding that I look for her. If he was abusing her, it would make sense that she didn’t tell him where she was. If Michael knew his close friend was being abused by her husband, do you think he would act on that knowledge?”

Alex kept all reaction from his face, even as his heart beat started to increase. It was terrifying how close the Sheriff was to certain elements of the truth just from speculating. She was right on some level, if Michael had known that Noah was abusing Isobel, he certainly would have done something sooner. “I think that if Isobel were being harmed, her brother would have stepped in long before Michael even had the chance, and we would be discussing another sad police involved shooting.”

She smiled ruefully, acknowledging the point. “You’re probably right about Evans. So what about the witness I have who says he saw Guerin arguing with Mr. Bracken last night?”

“He’s lying. I swear to you that we were together at his trailer. Alone. All night. I never once saw Noah Bracken.” He gestured to her desk, “I’ll go on the record if I have to. Go ahead and turn on the recorders, if you haven’t already done so.”

“I’m not recording this, Alex. We're just talking. If I were interviewing you, I would say so, and I’m sure you would have a lawyer here.” Michelle Valenti nodded meaningfully over his shoulder where the conference room was. “That is the legal right that you immediately invoked for your partner at the first sign of trouble.”

“I’m protective of Michael, and I am aware of his past interactions with this office that you mentioned. Young men with no college degrees and a history of contact with the police don’t fare well in the justice system.”

“You can’t blame us for following up on witness testimony.”

“Can’t I? I gave you my account as a decorated Captain in the Air Force with a Top Secret clearance, and you still picked him up this morning. Is it because I'm not white or is it because I'm gay that those two feds decided to single out Michael?”

Sheriff Valenti frowned in response at his deliberately provocative framing of the situation. “No, it’s because we found the body of Hank Gibbons in the parking lot of Guerin’s favorite bar.”

“And?” Alex lifted his eyebrow in inquiry.

“Two of the misdemeanor assault charges that your boyfriend has, involved Hank Gibbons.”

“So? Hank’s an unapologetic racist. I know exactly how he feels about my people and yours, Sheriff. My only question is why haven’t more people slugged him because I know I have wanted to.” He smiled meanly. “I make a better suspect than Michael. I've actually killed people.”

“Are you confessing?”

“Only to my disbelief that you’re letting those federal morons loose in Roswell. There is no way that Michael left me in the trailer, murdered Hank and/or Noah, came back to the trailer without waking me, and then turned around to return to the scene of his proposed crime the next morning to do a repair job. You see how ridiculous that sounds, right?” Alex pushed himself up from the chair, and stood to leave. “I think we’re both pretty well caught up now, don’t you think?”

Sheriff Valenti looked down briefly in exhaustion before meeting his angry gaze. “I told you before, I’m not the enemy here, Alex. I'm just trying to protect the people of Roswell, the best way I can.”

“I hate this town, I've only stayed here because of him.” He turned the knob on the office door, “That’s pretty much the extent of whom I want to protect in Roswell.”

* * *

Alex returned to his too familiar seat on the lobby bench and stewed over his conversation with Sheriff Valenti. Intellectually he knew she was only doing her job. It did not help settle the feelings of betrayal that his beloved childhood memories of her were now tarnished a bit, with her words about Michael.

The witness planted by Project Shepherd had a lot to answer for it turned out.

Michael’s voice brought his attention next, his annoyed drawl echoing from the corridor just outside the conference room. “This was fun, Agent Rollins. Let me know if you want me to go over my _movements_ from the other night again, and Alex’s even better movements. I can really _open up_ on that, if it helps.”

Well there was little to no chance that Michael would not pick up on the agent’s discomfort with Alex’s sexuality and their relationship during the interview and then let that implied homophobia stand unchallenged. There was a list of drunk and disorderlies that Sheriff Valenti had presented involving the town’s small-minded bigots from the last decade that precluded Michael leaving anything alone. 

The look of barely restrained disgust on Agent Rollins face was priceless. The eyeliner wearing in-your-face boy of his youth mentally cheered the unashamed taunting that Michael must have done, even as Alex's more adult side had hoped for some self-preservation in the face of a law enforcement investigation.

Major Torres kept his eye roll to a minimum, and none-too-gently steered Michael over to Alex, “What my client means is, you have my number if you wish to schedule a follow-up interview. We’re happy to cooperate in any investigation, especially if it leads to Mr Bracken returning safely home.”

Michael stepped into his space, and before Alex could clock his intentions, they were kissing. His arms came up first in surprise, then in invitation as muscle memory took over. The sounds of the lobby faded as Alex lifted his chin to the gentle pressure of Michael’s cloth wrapped left hand, his own fingers slipping easily into soft curls. His lips broke open, his mouth longing to deepen the kiss, except there was no questing advance from Michael. 

This was a performative kiss. 

The remembered ruse broke through his thoughts first, shaking his composure. Painfully his heart was now pounding for an entirely different reason. Alex stepped back from the kiss, dipping his eyes downward as he struggled to keep his balance on his prosthesis. “You uh, ready to go home then?”

“Long past ready, darlin’.” Michael exhaled sharply, and reached past him to snag his cowboy hat off the bench. With a flourish, he settled the hat and tipped his head to the still watching agents. “Gentlemen…”

Alex glanced over to Torres where he could tell his friend was fighting in equal portions curiosity and frustration at Michael’s antics. “Alright, you know where to find us.”

Torres held the door open, donning his cover on his head. The midday sun had long since burned away and the shadows of the early December evening had the street lights already lit. “I would stay to catch up with you, Alex but I have to report in tomorrow. I need to put in my leave request as well. We’re kind of overstaffed now, so this isn’t the worst time to take off for a civilian murder trial.”

Michael stopped abruptly on the sidewalk, “Murder trial? Thanks for your help, but you did notice they released me right?”

Alex looked past Michael and pressed his lips together. “Guerin, this was just round one, and I think we got lucky.”

“I just got my ass grilled by two feds and my private life splashed all over Roswell, and you’re calling that lucky?”

“If I hadn’t been waiting at Sanders's for you, do you think you would be standing here?” He did his best to communicate with a glare what a terrible situation if someone had been able to enter the Airstream, find bloody clothes, to say nothing of the diagrams and schematics of an alien craft that littered the interior.

“Listen to your boyfriend, Guerin.” Torres advised. “Those guys were fishing, but they have a target and that’s you. They’ll be back with a warrant. We have a little time before they can get in front of a judge for an order for blood and hair, and even more time while they test it, but make no mistake this is not over.”

Alex clasped Torres hand, firmly, “Thanks for doing this.”

“I owed you, Alex.” He reminded, before turning toward his car. “Of course if this goes how I think it’s going to go, you’re going to end up owing me after this is all over.” He clapped his hands together loudly and started laughing, as he walked away, calling over his shoulder, “Remind me never to fall in love.”

Alex ignored the incredulous scoff from Michael, and gestured toward the SUV. “Come on, I’ll take you to Isobel.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ETA in June 2020- I wrote a Michael POV of some of the events of this chapter.
> 
> https://archiveofourown.org/works/25093048


	3. Chapter 3

Silence settled between them as Alex focused on the road. It was the first time alone with Michael since his interrupted confession at the Airstream last night. Trying to explain his regretful decisions to Michael was truly a lifetime ago in the face of today’s revelations. The urgent words of before dried up in his throat. He rubbed at his lower lip, wondering if he could still taste Michael’s kiss. It was beyond mortifying that he had opened so easily, so naturally, and in front of most of Roswell’s finest plus two federal agents.

One touch and he forgot himself entirely. It was just as true at 28 as it was at 17.

“Sorry for the kiss, I just figured we needed to sell it a bit.” Michael broke in, clearly watching him as his finger was still lingering on his lips. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.”

With effort, Alex pulled away to place both hands on the wheel, “No, it was fine. You were fine.” 

“You sure? You look like your skin’s crawlin’. I was just tryin’ to follow your lead, since you put yourself out-”

“Guerin,” Alex broke in firmly, “You didn’t do anything wrong. I was just caught by surprise.”

“Join the club,” Michael croaked wearily, “Last time I checked you wanted exactly zero people knowing about us. Now it’s like you’re taking out an ad in the Roswell Daily Record. From your dirty secret to the front page news, you’re giving me whiplash.”

“You were not a dirty secret, Guerin.” 

“Oh no? Must have been some other guy I was fucking who wanted to bolt when Isobel showed up.”

“That wasn’t about you.” Alex gripped the steering wheel tightly. This was grief and fatigue talking he reminded himself. From the remembered scorn that Michael used to describe the system, Alex had no doubt over six hours stewing in the police station being questioned by authority figures did nothing to soothe Michael’s raw feelings.

“It felt like it was. We spent two weeks fucking in my trailer after hours, and the first time sunlight hit your face, you left skid marks leaving,” Michael replied darkly, leaning his seat back. He tugged at the black bandanna wrapped around his left hand, propping a dusty boot against the car’s interior. “Hard to reconcile that with you telling people we’re together.”

“I admit, I fucked that up that morning but I tried to make it better. We had a date that night in front of the whole Air Force and my father. Remember the drive in benefit?” He shot back at Michael, turning his head away from the road fleetingly.

“That was not a date!”

“No? I paid for your truck’s parking spot, I bought you drinks and popcorn, and I held your hand during the scene with the massacre of the aliens-” Alex froze at the unintentional mention of Caulfield, and swore silently. “Dammit. I meant-”

Michael cut off his apology, bitterly. “Yeah, you did do that.”

He clenched his jaw and swallowed hard at the implied rebuke. At the drive in, Michael had curled in on himself as the ‘heroes’ prevailed, killing the aliens in a sustained violent rampage. Alex had grabbed his damaged left hand tenderly, thinking himself daring at the time, and stroked the top of the scars with his thumb soothingly. He thought it was an anxiety reaction by Michael after surviving his violent attack as a teenager. Alex was no stranger to having his own fucked up reactions to movies and visual stimulus. To date, he prided himself on managing to watch 38 minutes of Jarhead, before the panic attack made the rest of the movie a blank space in his memory.

Little did he know that Michael was reacting to the genocide of an alien invader. Little did he know that he would make Michael live his nightmares in person just a few months later. 

“Sorry.” Alex murmured, feeling helpless in the face of so many mistakes made. “I’m so sorry. If I could-”

“Don’t,” Michael choked out harshly, before softening it with a weak request, “Please.”

He spared another glance off the road, to see Michael with his eyes closed and his fists clenched. The steering of the SUV fought his control for a moment, before quieting under his hands. “Okay.”

Michael released a slow loud exhale, and opened his eyes. The surroundings registered for the first time, causing him to twist in his seat to look back toward the direction they had traveled. “This isn’t the way to the turquoise mines. I thought you were taking me to Isobel.”

“We have to make a stop first, and then I need to ask a favor of you.” The surge of fear caught in his throat, as he tried to parcel out the right words. Alex bit his lower lip, and made a right turn away from the mesa toward the decommissioned Walker AFB. 

“Since you're giving me an alibi for murder, I guess I owe you one.”

He stayed quiet. Bringing up his father was always a minefield for them.

“Spit it out, Alex.”

“Those FBI agents are here because of Project Shepherd.” He let out a deep breath, continuing, “I think the missing persons case is just an excuse to arrest you and likely Isobel and Max as well.”

“What the fuck!” The SUV jerked suddenly against his hold on the steering wheel. “Didn’t you shut that down after you sent your dad to Africa?” 

“I did, I did shut down what I knew about, but Caulfield-” Alex winced at the flash of agony that swept over Michael’s face at the name. “My brother Flint was there.”

“Was he trapped in the prison like my m- like the other aliens? Did he get blown up too then? No?” Michael scoffed, and waved his wrapped hand mockingly. “Of course not. I guess mutilating aliens wasn’t just daddy’s hobby.”

He turned into the decommissioned military site, ignoring the signs warning against trespassing, and shut off the engine. The sign barely covered the dangers that this conversation promised. 

“Flint got out, but he didn’t take anything with him. He talked about a bio weapon that they are developing, which means there’s at least another site, but probably more likely there’s more than one. The military loves redundancy.” Alex exhaled forcefully, feeling the weight of the situation again. He licked his lower lip nervously and resumed his explanation, “The witness the feds have that allowed them to question you in the first place is an old friend of my dad’s. This conspiracy is willing to go as far as to plant physical evidence on Hank Gibbons. I know you’re tired and angry, but I’m on your side.”

Michael exhaled harshly. “I don’t know anything, Alex. I don’t barely know which direction is up and which direction is down. Fuck.” His fingers rubbed at his eyes, and stretched up to pull at his curls restlessly. “Everyone who had any answers for me is dead. Who I am, where I came from, it’s all gone. And now you’re telling me that the same people who murdered my,” he pursed his lips, forcing the tremble in his voice to strengthen as a bright tear streaked down his face, “murdered my mom want to do the same to me? My family? I just- I can’t-”

Alex grabbed his wrapped hand and held it firm, squeezing meaningfully until Michael quieted under his touch. Michael wiped uselessly at his face with his free hand. “I am telling you that I am going to protect you and your family from that. If you don’t know anything, at least know that.”

“Right. The lawyer and the alibi.” Michael turned to him, meeting his gaze with an unreadable expression in his fatigue-bruised eyes before glancing down at their joined hands. “All this because you love me?”

It was the fiercest indictment of Alex’s actions that it was even phrased as a question. He met the beloved hazel gaze bravely, and felt the press of the word ‘yes’ beating in his chest. Why had the words slipped so effortlessly from him in Isobel’s mindspace but now stayed sealed in his throat? He licked his lower lip again, and then his traitorous mind flashed instantly to Michael strumming the first chords of a Patsy Cline song for Maria. 

The resolve fled, leaving him with the other truth to offer; his duty. “You’re innocent, you didn’t do anything wrong. This is an illegal operation fueled by a harmful agenda based on nothing more than xenophobia and hate.”

“Right.” Michael pulled his hand away. Disappointment sank heavily into Alex at the physical retreat, but he had earned that from Michael with his deflection. “So why are we here then? What do you want me to do this time? This favor?” he gestured at the decommissioned base sign carelessly, keeping his head turned from Alex’s gaze. 

“Right,” Alex echoed weakly and took a deep breath. He stared directly ahead at the abandoned building and focused on the facts to relay. “The favor. My father is back from Africa, I don’t know for sure but I think Flint told him about my visit to Caulfield. This morning he attempted to murder Kyle, and my guess is I’m not far behind on his list.”

“Fuck.”

“Kyle managed to get the upper hand and drug him. I've got him tied up at the moment but I can’t exactly let him go with everything that is going on with those Feds. I thought about having him court-martialed for going against official orders, but Caulfield was too well funded to chance a pardon. Unfortunately, I can't kill him.”

“Because he’s your father?” Michael asked dully, his fingers tapping against the door frame. 

Alex shifted, until he met Michael’s uncertain eyes. The time to be sentimental about family bonds was over a long time ago in the Manes house. “Because I promised Kyle I wouldn’t.” He watched as Michael digested that, and pushed on, “I was hoping we could put him in one of the pods. From what Kyle explained, it keeps someone in stasis?”

“You want to put your alien hating father in an alien pod?”

“He’s too dangerous to have walking around. Keeping him sedated requires more equipment than we have access to, and faking an admission to a hospital runs its own risks to Kyle. I don’t know if these pods are sacred to you, but I’m out of good options and-”

“Okay.” Michael interrupted, waving his hand in emphasis. “I trust you. If you say this is the only way, then, well, let’s get this over with.” 

* * * 

The SUV headlights picked up the red reflectors of Kyle’s parked BMW first, as Alex followed Michael’s subdued directions off the highway to the service road leading to the turquoise mines. His father was draped across the backseat with only a cursory adjustment to keep his airway clear, after injecting him with the remaining sedative left behind. 

Michael had stared long and hard at the trussed man on the long table, his face flashed with an ancient suppressed rage and newly raw grief. There was a moment where Alex considered wrapping his hands around his father’s neck, the way he had learned from his father as a frightened child, and then just not letting go. The apologies he would owe Kyle would be easy to make if it meant he never saw that look on Michael’s face again. 

Alex had no idea what Michael saw on his face in return, but the result was a frown of concentration as Michael used his telekinesis to lift the body up and out of the bunker to stow in the Explorer.

Michael had the same frown on his face, as they parked next to the BMW. “I told Isobel we were here,” he explained. “I still have a link to her mind from earlier.”

“And Max?” 

He shrugged, grabbing his hat from the dash. “I can’t tell. Mental stuff is hard for me. I can send a hello or an SOS, but more complicated messages are beyond my skills. Our jailhouse chat was unusual.”

Alex pushed down the thread of curiosity, and focused on finding his flashlight from the back of the car. He glanced down at his right leg, wondering how much damage he had done already. The burning in his hip had spread down his thigh and had settled into a nice throbbing beat of pain in his knee joint nestled in the cup of the prosthesis. Hiking in the dark under uneven terrain was not a listed approved activity by his doctor and physical therapist. 

There was a crunch of footsteps to the left of them. Alex grabbed the solid metal grip of the torch and readied himself. It was a nice reminder that today was going to be the last day he did not carry his firearm on him. 

“Iz!” Michael wrapped his arms around her, clinging. His entire body appeared to collapse against her, betraying a previously hidden need for comfort. She held on, burying her face in his neck, seemingly well practiced at calming him. 

He stared down at the heavy flashlight in his hands, feeling inadequate for a moment. The self protective instinct always won out over the compassionate one. He should have hugged Michael himself earlier, pushing past the bristling and posturing. 

“Hey jailbird,” she greeted wetly, before slowly rocking back. 

After a long pause, Michael pulled back to compose himself. “Where’s Max?” 

“Dead.” Kyle replied out of the dark to Michael, as he skidded down the slope of loose rocks. 

Michael exhaled sharply, turning to Isobel for confirmation. She wiped at her eyes, nodding miserably, “He feels gone, I can’t reach him. Liz got his heart beating again, and then- she and Rosa carried him to our pods. Kyle can tell you more, it looks like he gave himself a massive stroke bringing her back.”

“Excuse me, did you just say Rosa?” Alex broke in, surprised. He watched as Michael grimaced and rubbed his face wearily, but showed no surprise at the question or unease of someone new knowing their secret. It was impossible, he thought. The only Rosa who knew about aliens died at the hands of one when she learned the truth.

The real cause of her death and the fallout afterward had slipped under the radar with knowledge that there was an active serial killer in Roswell taking precedence. He knew Kyle had his own uneasy feelings toward the Evans twins and Michael at the revelation, and personally Alex wasn’t sure how to react. 

Ten years ago, when he thought about that night, Alex's memories were colored strongly with the image of Michael, holding a bloody and maimed hand cowering and his father, dragging him from the shed by his hair. 

It was not an exaggeration that he actually had no memory of the next day.

“Ortecho? Rosa Ortecho?” He looked from Isobel to Kyle for some hint at denial at his guess. “How? She... she's been dead for ten years. Max brought her back from the dead?”

Kyle threw up his hands, “He did. I don’t even know where to begin on that, but I guess Noah stole her body from the morgue and put her in his pod to keep for the last ten years as some sick souvenir or creepy masturbation aid. Resurrection shouldn’t even be possible, even if the pod kept her from decaying. There was a preliminary autopsy report for God’s sake. What Max did defies rational explanation.” 

“That righteous motherfucker did it anyway.” Michael muttered angrily. “If Noah’s actions haven’t exposed us, then reintroducing a dead girl to Roswell will for sure.”

“Where... where is Rosa now?”

Isobel sighed tiredly, answering Alex’s question, “Liz took her back to Max’s house for now. She took the resurrection and finding out that her sister’s high school lab partner was an alien pretty well. Seeing me show up, on the other hand, was not good.” She looked down at her hands, “I can’t really blame her, my face was the last thing she saw.”

Surprisingly it was Kyle who stepped closer to Isobel to soothe the self-loathing in her voice, “Today was a lot for her, but she’ll understand that it wasn’t you once we tell her the whole story.”

“Sure Valenti,” Michael drawled tiredly, “might have been Noah who killed her, but it was me and Iz and Max who covered it up. I’m sure it will be all forgiven once she finds out we framed her for that accident and let the town harass and bully her father. Let’s not forget we sent Liz away too, so he was all alone to grieve.”

Kyle straightened, stung at the abrasive attack. “You think I don’t know that? You think _I've_ forgiven that?” 

Alex was unceremoniously reminded of the conversation from before, that there were things the aliens had done that Kyle could not reconcile, even if his innate compassion sought a means of making sense of it. “Guys, wait,” he interjected, and braved a light touch on Michael’s arm, drawing him away from Kyle. “We have bigger issues to try to solve first. How likely is it that the cops will find Noah’s body? And where is his body?”

Both Kyle and Isobel turned to Michael expectantly. He took a long, exhausted exhale, and tipped his head to one side, fixing his gaze at Kyle. “Not sure I should say, it’s what my lawyer just explained to me as incriminating information.”

Kyle rolled his eyes, not offended, but Alex squeezed his arm in response. “I just put my career on the line for you, and Kyle took a bullet earlier because he’s on your side of this conspiracy. So if you trust me, you can trust him.”

“Alright. Well after Max flambéed Noah with lightning,” Michael paused dramatically, a hint of a smile at the corner of his lips at both his and Kyle’s reaction to lightning as the murder weapon. “I moved his body over to the ravine, about a mile west of here. It’s remote, but open to the elements. It’s fucking December, so no one is hiking these trails until spring, and he’ll be long gone by then.”

“Speaking of dead bodies, who’s in your SUV, Alex?” Isobel peered inside the back seat window. 

“That one’s not dead. At least not yet.” Michael rubbed at his face, before leaning into absently Alex’s grip. “It’s Alex’s Dad, Iz. Remember how I told you he held and tortured aliens from the ‘47 crash before murdering them all yesterday? Well apparently he tried to take out Valenti this morning, and he was too fucking moral and upstanding to kill the bastard.”

The dry recital of facts did little to distract him from the warmth of feeling just a fraction of Michael’s weight against his hand.

“Hey!” Kyle protested, affronted for a moment. Alex raised his eyebrow at the challenge. “I mean, you’re not wrong. I just have this radical idea that we’ve all been a part of enough murders for one day, right?”

“So you keep saying, but that wasn’t my vote.” 

“Mine either.” Michael leaned harder briefly against Alex’s hold, before stepping away to flex his hand repeatedly. “I’d make an exception for him.” 

“Regardless, the bullet I mentioned? That was my dad trying to silence Kyle because he knows about Project Shepherd. I would rather have him out of the way while an alien murder investigation is going on just to be safe. He’s a threat to you and Michael, Isobel.”

Isobel fixed her attention on him, as the penny dropped. “You want to use our pods as some sort of jail cell for him?”

“Yes. Until I can arrange a real cell for him which might take some time. I can’t be sure he isn’t protected higher up. The prison he was running was well funded.”

“And you’re absolutely sure he can’t be talked around? Jesse knows me, we planned your homecoming parade together. We’re people to him, right? We're not... not going to blow up the White House. Maybe if we tell him our side, that whatever government conspiracy he believes in is wrong-”

“No!” The force of Michael’s protest echoed in the mesa, and the car rocked with his powers. “The guy’s a bigot, Iz. This isn’t someone just following orders, okay? You didn’t see that prison. You didn’t see how they kept the others. We are not people to them.” 

The pale unmarked skin of Michael’s hand peeked from outside the hastily wrapped bandanna. It was jarring for Alex to hear that for someone so protective and close to Michael, Isobel thought Jesse Manes was capable of temperance. 

“Short of rewriting his personality, once my father has decided that someone is a threat, I've never known him to change his mind.” That was true as an awkwardly shy preteen who blushed too easily and as a hardened adult who had come home from war changed in every way but the one his father most cared about.

She raised her hands in surrender, chastened by their response. “Alright. It's just been a very long day, and I wanted to make sure we looked at all the options before doing this, Michael. Max would want us to be smart about it.”

“Max was pretty eager to kill Noah, for you, which I'm now in the frame for, so forgive me for not giving a shit about playing devil’s advocate.” He strode past Alex toward the back of the SUV pulling the door open with his mind. “I'm done listening to what Max would have done.”

Kyle held a hand out to Alex, helping him step over the first slope of loose shale, as Michael concentrated on lifting Jesse Manes with his telekinesis out of the backseat and over toward the faint trail toward the mines. Isobel followed behind quietly, her flashlight picking up the signs of earlier foot traffic.

For a secret location, it had seen a substantial amount of visitors in one day. Alex sharply scanned the surroundings, making small mental notes about the exposure and security of the area. He would have to have Michael take him back during daylight hours to get a full lay of the land. There were a few long-lasting solar powered video units that he could purchase to place at vantage points. It would require a cell phone similarly powered to route the video alerts to him in the cast of an intruder.

His cabin would need its own security system installed. 

Eventually Flint will come looking for his answers. 

Kyle pulled aside the boarded up signs, as Michael held the body steadily with his mind. A faint trail of sweat beaded on his forehead, the only evidence that this was taxing on his abilities. 

“We’re going to need to replenish the supply of silver if we keep putting people in and out of pods,” Isobel observed, stepping into the cave.

The three tall pods were arranged in a triangle, seated purposefully in the wide cavern of the old turquoise mine. Seeing the ethereal glow momentarily stole Alex’s breath away. He had handled the fragment of the ship, and poured through the computerized records at the Project Shepherd bunker, but all of that experience paled in comparison of being confronted by something so utterly alien.

Kyle watched his face, nodding toward the pod. “The description doesn’t compare, does it?”

“Don’t sound so smug, Dr. Valenti. You looked just as gobsmacked a couple of hours ago.” Isobel strode to the corner of the cave to where a large pot and heating element stood, seemingly out of place in the cluster of plastic chairs draped in a sleeping bag and stacks of discarded hard-bound books. Michael lowered Jesse to the dirt coarse floor with a careless drop of a foot. 

Alex stared at the pod to the right, where Max Evans floated weightlessly within, his eyes closed peacefully. He looked washed out in the glow, his arms hung loosely next to his sides within the pod with no static muscle movement. He looked dead. And entirely unclothed. 

He turned away, a warm blush stealing over his ears. Feeling exposed and off balance, Alex glared at Kyle, “Okay, he’s naked. Someone could have mentioned that.”

“Hey, if I had to see _that_ side of Max Evans, you should too,” Kyle teased weakly.

“It’s good that you know that Liz upgraded from you, Valenti. He’s not _just taller_ than you,” Michael commented maliciously as he fished a bottle of nail polish remover out of a canvas bag and settled heavily into a folding chair that was surrounded by the makeshift camp site of blankets and books. 

“Can we stop talking about my brother’s dick for a minute and focus? The surface of the pod is impenetrable by nearly every material, except for silver.” Isobel started the kiln and pointed toward the bowl, explaining the process carefully for Alex. “Liz found these synthetic exothermic enzymes that bond to the silver and release the heat, so we’re not giving ourselves third degree burns in order to re-enter the pod. We’ve got no idea how it originally worked, but this will do in a pinch.”

Alex nodded, and dropped into an awkward crouch to start removing his father’s uniform. “So you put this silver mix on and then the pod just opens?”

“It’s more like the surface tension of the pod dissolves for a moment on contact with the silver,” Michael picked up in explanation, steadily sipping on the acetone. “I don’t remember anything myself, but Iz, you said it was like going to sleep for a minute, right?”

“More like blinking for a long minute, but yes. I was in for six weeks or so, with no effect on my memory or metabolism. I’m not exactly human, and Rosa was dead, so she was preserved from any side effects from the pod. At some point in the 50 years we originally were in the pods, all memories of home and our parents were wiped from us, so I can’t promise this won’t have its own side effects on your dad, Alex.”

“So he could come out brain-damaged or with amnesia?” Alex asked, folding the uniform shirt methodically as he was trained to do in a neat stack. 

“Potentially,” Kyle answered gravely. “However, from what I know of him, that sounds like an improvement.”

“For sure,” he agreed and accepted the basin of the silver enzymes from Isobel. With Kyle’s help, they methodically dumped the heavy silver syrup-mixture over his father’s slack features. As he tipped the last of the mix over Jesse’s head, the limp muscles under his grip suddenly tensed as his eyes shot open.

“Wha…” Jesse protested weakly, pulling away from the twin grasp of Kyle and Alex’s hands. He brought up an elbow, catching Kyle easily in the face, knocking him down in a panicked, animal-like terror.

Alex swung into action, using the unyielding force of his prosthesis to kick the back of his father’s knees out from under him. It sent an unforgiving reverberation of pain up to his hip that he ignored, as he slipped his forearm around his father’s throat expertly. “Always have to do things the hard way, Dad,” he gritted out, holding pressure on his father’s carotid artery, the silver mixture smearing over his arm and chest as his father struggled against his hold for leverage.

Jesse gurgled weakly under the treatment, before slumping back into stillness. There was an undeniable flicker of pleasure in choking his father into unconsciousness. It would never erase his memories of struggling to breathe while staring into his father’s dispassionate blue gaze, but still.

In a day filled with emotional free-falls, at least he had that moment.

Coldly, Alex finished the application with a dispassionate touch to smear the slick mixture over his father, taking care in keeping the enzyme in a thick layer. Once he finished, he pressed the unwieldy body against the warm light of the pod. There was a moment of resistance, before the skin of the pod dissolved against the pressure. Alex let out a long breath of relief as Jesse’s body fell through the front of the pod, and was enveloped in the alien grip of stasis. 

“Well that was fun,” Kyle muttered, holding the corner of his shirt up against his eye to wipe the discarded mix away. “You good, Alex?”

He staggered to his feet with an effort, taking care in not touching the pod with his silver-streaked fingers. A solid pressure suddenly surrounded him, to ease him to his feet. Alex glanced over to where Michael was standing, with a crease of concentration on his forehead. Gratitude and care swept over him at the realization that it was Michael’s mind holding him steady. 

“Yes.” He glanced down at the sticky silver residue that now stained his maroon sweater, and revised his statement, “Nothing a change of clothes and a shower can’t fix.”

“Fabulous,” Isobel snarked tiredly. “So what's next?”

Alex picked up one of the discarded blankets to toss over the pod holding his father, obscuring Jesse's image from view. He fished through the belongings from his father’s pockets, tucking the military ID and set of keys into his jeans. “Well my guess is there is probably a squad car sitting outside your house, Isobel, in case Noah comes back or to see who visits you in the meantime. Unless you want to disclose your relation to Guerin, I would be careful in who you see there and when.”

“Max only took leave through the end of this week, eventually people are going to notice that he’s not around.” Isobel pressed her hand against Max’s pod. “First my husband goes missing, then my brother. I don’t think we’ll need to worry about the cops charging Michael, I’m going to be warming that cell next.”

“Iz, no, that’s never going to happen, I won’t let it,” Michael protested, before slipping his arm around to guide her toward the mouth of the cave. “Liz and I are geniuses, we’ll get Max back before you know it. Even Valenti isn’t totally useless.”

“Thanks Guerin,” Kyle replied dryly, following them back toward their cars. 

“Okay,” Isobel wrapped her arms around Michael, hugging him closely as she stood next to Kyle’s BMW. She rubbed her hands down his arms, before reaching up to adjust a stray curl. Michael ducked away from her hand good-naturedly. “I’ll call you tomorrow, and we can start working on figuring out our abilities. Noah could do more than just influence someone, and I’ll be damned if I am less powerful than that bastard.”

“That’s the spirit.” 

Alex unlocked his SUV, and waited tiredly for him. The two siblings held each other for another moment, before reluctantly parting. He could only imagine how off-kilter Isobel felt without her twin. The brief mention of their psychic abilities at Caulfield only scratched the surface of his curiosity about them, especially in the wake of the low level distress Michael had mentioned from the others.

He had lots of unwanted experience in loss, from the physical to the emotional punch of losing Michael. Even with his varied experience, he could not begin to guess at what the long term effect of missing a low-level psychic awareness could be on Isobel and Michael with Max gone. The book on psychic alien twins consisted of a few observations from Liz and was hardly considered complete. Going in blind on a situation like that tripped his buried minefields of growing up in a chaotic household. 

Knowledge was planning, planning was control, and control was safety. 

Carefully he pulled off the silver blotched sweater tossing it toward the rear seat, counting it as a total loss. The ironic reminder that he had meticulously chosen his outfit this morning in order to see Michael. 

Nothing about that morning had turned out like he had hoped.

*** 

It took all the taxed energy reserves that Alex had to keep his eyes open as he drove away from the mines. He entertained a moment where he thought about asking Michael to drive but instantly discarded it. What was a little fatigue and a missing leg in comparison to losing a sibling and getting interrogated for hours at a police station.

He watched in concern as Michael laid his head back against the seat and closed his eyes. His rough stubble covered his throat, past the point of artfully shaded and into the range of growing a beard. The soft peppery scent edged with an earthy undertone filled the enclosed space of the cab. It was a scent that Alex had always noted as purely Michael, born of hard living but was also somewhat related to his acetone consumption.

“Unless you have an objection to wearing some of my clothes, I vote we head back to my cabin tonight and get your things tomorrow from the trailer. We should probably pack up anything alien related then too.”

“So you’re really going all in on this?”

Alex stared straight ahead to keep from missing the service road track in the dark. “I just told all of the local law enforcement that we were together, and the sheriff knows exactly where I live since it used to be her husband’s hunting cabin.”

“Guess I’m stuck then,” Michael drawled. 

“I have a spare bedroom. Tomorrow we can move your trailer up to the cabin and park it. You can have your privacy back.”

“You mean you can have _your_ privacy back, Alex. Your words to those feds aside, I know I ain’t your favorite person right now.” Michael kept his eyes closed, speaking truthfully into the dark, “I’m real familiar with that pinched look you keep tryin’ to hide. Did you bite off more than you can chew tryin’ to save my worthless ass?”

He swallowed hard, and made the turn back toward the mesa plateau. “I’m fine. And you are not worthless.”

“Guess that’s a matter of opinion.”

The cut of Michael’s words was only mildly softened by the knowledge of how hard the last couple of days were on them both. Alex struggled to keep from firing back at Michael, but what good would it do to explain why he felt wounded. 

It was beyond tempting to say in for a penny, in for a pound. If only he could forget that he had found Michael at the Wild Pony sharing that kiss with his best friend. Perhaps the vision of that embrace would fade, but Michael’s fingers, healed and whole, picking through the song he had once taught him would not. 

There was no way back, as he had learned a long time ago. There was only through. “You should call Maria. She’s no doubt worried about you after the police presence this morning.”

Michael scoffed, and settled in silence.

“She should at least know what to say to the police, so we’re all on the same page.”

“And what page is that, Alex?”

“I don’t know, what have you told her?” He shot back, frustration finally leaking through at the flatly sardonic tone in Michael’s voice. 

“I told her it was over between us, but I didn’t use your poetic words of it ending with a whimper.” 

Alex parked in front of the dark cabin and removed the key from the ignition. The engine cooled and ticked, as neither made a move to open the door. He took a deep breath, and held it, silently counting out the beats with his pulse. “I meant, regarding Noah and all that. Does she know what happened yesterday?”

“You mean, does she know I watched my mom get murdered after I finally found her? No. It hasn’t come up yet in conversation.” Michael clenched his fists in his lap and then let out his own noisy exhale. “Fuck. Sorry. I keep taking this out on you. Just- you should have let them take me away. I might not have murdered Noah or Gibbons, but I triggered that-”

“No! That was not your fault, okay? You didn’t know.”

Michael was silent, and wiped at his face again at the renewed stream of tears tracking slowly down his face.

“Yesterday was terrible but it wasn’t your fault.” Alex blinked away his own rise of tears forcefully. He did not know what to do with Michael's grief fueled anger but absorb it, to pull it inside so deep it couldn’t hurt Michael anymore. “It’s been a bad week.”

“Bad week, bad month, fuck my whole life really. Except, as bad as it’s been, it was worse for my mom. I can't even grasp it. Seventy years on this miserable fucking planet in a cell.” Michael brushed at his eyes again with a ragged inhale, “How do you explain that to someone? I can't and I don’t want to. I just, I just want something that's not connected to that. So yeah, Maria doesn’t know anything, and I want to keep it that way.”

Alex was intimately connected to all of ‘that’, and now he knew what drew Michael to her.

The too-familiar shame spiral of blame nipped at his attention, forcing himself to plan out his next steps. He could thank his therapist for helping him build that tool. The next five minutes were going to be fine. He could make it to the door, and then to the bedroom to remove his prosthesis. There was a tangible target to meet to remove some of the pain he was in, whatever that was physical. Emotional was another issue all together. 

“Okay.” 

Michael absorbed his reponse thoughtfully, and then nodded toward the door of the cabin. “I don’t know if she will understand my playing house with you.”

“But you want her to.”

“Yeah,” Michael glanced down at his left hand, flexing it with care. “I wanna try and see if I can be happy, if it’s even possible.”

Alex chewed on the inside of his cheek hard for a moment. “I can talk to her for you. Tell her that it’s not real.” The bright copper taste flooded his mouth. “Whatever you want me to say, I will. I wouldn't worry too much. She... she likes you, and she has no real love for the cops. She’ll understand.”

“Maria and I are just getting started, and this is kind of a lot. I wouldn’t blame her for walking away.” Alex suppressed his flinch from the unsaid rebuke as Michael reached for his hat from the dash. “But that’s tomorrow’s problem. You said something about clean clothes, don’t suppose I can get a shower with that?”

“Follow me, I’ll get you set up.” Finally, a concrete problem that he could solve.

***

Alex waited until the sound of the shower came on before taking a moment to regroup. He was as Michael reminded him, going all in on this farce, and that meant living together. Intellectually he was prepared to share after years of close-knit barracks and splitting base housing with the lowest ranked bachelor officers, but in practice he had been alone since his return to Roswell.

Outside of Kyle’s visit months ago, this was the first time he had let anyone into his home. 

He felt exposed, watching Michael step into the cabin, turning his curious eyes to the cheap dated prints on the dark wood walls and old mismatched furniture that Jim Valenti had left behind. A set of crutches and his closed laptop were the only signs of his habitation. The surroundings were still set up as a stopping place for the night or weekend escape, not the primary residence of anyone. 

Rubbing elbows with Michael, in a space he had barely marked as his, just barely addressed the surface challenge of sharing. He was not sure where to begin with the emotional side. He was going to be spending time with someone who appeared determined to move on from him, and not with a stranger at that. 

It was good to know that he could find a new form of self-torture. 

Staring at his open wardrobe doors, his hanging uniforms outnumbered the evidence of a civilian attire by a factor of two. It took more time than he was comfortable with to find non-Air Force emblazoned sweat pants and a plain gray sweatshirt for Michael to borrow. Gone were the days of stacks of faded black concert t-shirts and wildly printed sweaters. 

He rubbed his fingers over the pink paisley shirt, the splash of color amidst the dark blue and green shirts. Months ago he had bought a few articles of “date” clothing, testing the idea of staying in Roswell out in his mind. Setting down roots in this last duty station and seeing if Michael would be amenable to dating. It was somewhat of a miracle Michael was still attracted to him, after the past harsh partings that had marked the end of his infrequent furloughs and the new reality of his disability. For two blissful weeks Alex had leaned in hard to the fantasy of being happy in Roswell. 

After all, it was 2018 being openly queer still was not easy but it was getting better. Except his father had not changed, and that burdensome presence stole any hope of a peaceful coexistence away, forcing a retreat into tactical planning to coerce Jesse’s removal from Roswell. 

“Those for me?”

Startled by Michael’s voice, Alex dropped the gathered clothing on the floor from fatigue clumsy fingers. He bent his good leg down to scoop them up, except exhaustion and gravity set in against his efforts, collapsing his right knee out from under him.

Michael jolted forward in reaction, grabbing at his shoulders, while the unseen pressure of telekinesis caught Alex before he hit the floor. “Easy!”

Adrenaline spiked from the near-disaster, along with pain from his aborted fall. Alex clutched at Michael’s grip to regain his footing, tipping forward into his shower-warm body. The clean evergreen scent of his body-wash filled his nose, as warm, damp skin registered under his fingers. Scattered on his bedroom floor were both the gathered clothes and a gray bath towel. 

Alex’s mind belatedly noted, as he held onto Michael, that the towel discarded on the floor meant he was currently nude in Alex’s arms. Michael clean, smelling like Alex, and naked in his bedroom ticked more than a few well-worn fantasy boxes. 

Deliberately, Michael disentangled himself from the hold, waiting until Alex had a secure grip onto the bed frame, and then bent next to him to recover both the sweats and the towel from the hardwood floor. “Sorry, I could either catch you or flash you, and I thought catch was the best option. You kinda seen it all before.”

“It’s fine,” Alex replied, the blush staining his ears red and rushing over his cheekbones. “When I'm tired like this, I get jumpy. I should have heard the shower shut off.”

“You good?” he asked, eyeing the way Alex was resting his weight against the bed. “Your leg okay?”

Alex did his best to keep his gaze on Michael’s face, ignoring the slow drip of water from his wet curls. The teasing bead of moisture started at the top of a well-muscled shoulder, and dipped into his collar bones before snaking down his chest to disappear against the grain of the loose towel Michael held against his groin.

“Alex?”

He could press forward, and chase that trail with his mouth. His right leg and hip would scream in protest at dropping to his knees on the floor but maybe — Harshly he stopped that train of thought. Having Michael here was not the worst idea he ever had, the gallows humor of his mind listed the shed when he was a teen, and Caulfield just the other day. Not the worst, but it wasn’t his best either.

“It’s fine. Right. Um, so if you're done in the bathroom, I should probably get cleaned up too. This is a Jack and Jill style cabin, so there’s no master. The guest bedroom is actually right on the other side of the bathroom. That we share, um, we share the bathroom, not the bedroom-”

He was talking too much and undeniably at an octave higher than he needed. 

“I got it,” Michael interrupted smugly, a shade of his previously absent cowboy swagger swept over his frame as he pressed past him toward the offered bedroom. He made no attempt to wrap the towel around his waist again, holding it instead in front and allowing Alex to watch the bare flex of his ass move away from him. 

It was a clear message that the earlier slip of his self-control had been noticed, even tired and grief-sore Michael was still Michael. He had noticed early on how eager for affection Michael was, from the darkly muttered ‘did it get old for you’ to his teasing ‘I’m gonna start thinking you like me’ at the trailer after the reunion. There was a vein in Michael that craved touch and attention, any attention. The marriage of that with Michael’s desire to test any boundary laid down in front of him, made for either inspired fucking or raucous bar fights. It was up to Alex to remember, as hungry for a physical connection Michael was, he did not actually want what was on the other side. 

It forced him to reconsider that this really was one of the worst ideas Alex had ever committed to in his life.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter arrives Wednesday.
> 
> I'm also on tumblr if you're so inclined.  
> https://lambourngb.tumblr.com/


	4. Chapter 4

The exhaustion of the day, coupled with his meds, dropped Alex’s body straight into unconsciousness for his usual stint of five plus hours of rest. His military service shaped and molded his body clock, he was too well conditioned to fall back asleep after he woke at four am without engaging in other means of relaxing. 

His bed was empty of company and his awareness of Michael in the next room kept his hand away from his body.

The work, as it had been since he clocked his father in the face with his crutch, was always there.

A single warm bedside lamp lit the room as he constructed a mobile workstation on his bed. Yesterday’s information from Isobel’s mind walk circled back to his attention front and center, along with the details he’d gleaned from his own conversations with the loathsome Agent Rollins and his slightly more likable partner Agent Ross.

Alex slipped inside the Chaves County sheriff’s database using the credentials he had gleaned from his collaboration with Jenna Cameron, during the previous investigation into Doctor Holden and the fourteen bodies. Her recent suspension with the recommendation for termination was logged, but just as he guessed, the IT department had not removed her access and deleted her profile yet.

It was the type of flaw in network security the government had trained him to exploit.

Carefully he logged into the human resource department and began constructing a new user access and password, copying the existing credentials and permissions profile of the county-contracted administrator. Budget cuts and awarding cyber security contracts to the lowest qualified government bidder made his work infinitely easier than his past incursions into Chinese and North Korean systems.

He paused, in the middle of the system admin’s data, spotting a folder helpfully named ‘user profiles and passwords’ and smirked as he imaged the file over to his login. All knowledge would prove useful in the future.

With a remote access secured, Alex moved his attention to the open case numbers and chain-of-custody shipment requests listed. Joint-jurisdictional work meant too often the duplicated paperwork was left out in the open, each side waiting for the other to take responsibility for action. He recorded the active deputies involved, the note regarding Max Evans’s conflict of interest, and the liaison officer to the FBI. 

Hank Gibbons’s body had been sent to the Albuquerque federal crime lab for autopsy and a coroner's report. Isobel was right, there were preliminary notes regarding hair found on the body, both light brown and dark brown/black hair follicles. Nail clippings had been bagged. Sections of Hank’s shirt had been cut and tagged for testing. The cigarette butts from the scene had been collected. No distinct footprints had been noted in the parking lot. No surveillance video was available. 

Fingerprints had been collected from inside and out of Hank’s truck. There was a notation that his body might have been deliberately placed inside the truck in some attempt at concealment. The position of the body in the passenger side footwell had been marked on a crude diagram. Toxicology and blood samples had been tagged, with the cause of death listed as undetermined at the scene.

The death of a male under sixty-five years was automatically labeled as a homicide.

The initial interview with one Ms. Maria Deluca, the proprietor of the licensed establishment, had been done at the scene. No notes were entered yet on the case-file detailing any of the information she had provided.

Alex rubbed his eyes, and picked up his phone to open her contact information. The last text messages were from her, as he expected. “I need to see your face” was first, sent sometime the afternoon of the gala, probably a check in after he had made himself scarce after their talk of Michael being his Museum Guy. A tactical retreat that he had needed, once he had revealed he knew about Texas. It had been a serious misstep leaving Guerin’s trailer to visit Maria after seeing the alien ship project, but the habit of seeking her counsel when he found himself in emotional turmoil was too ingrained to fight.

Yesterday morning while he was at the Airstream she sent, “Come by today- drinks on me, the top shelf stuff even” with an emoticon to reinforce the friendly enough offer and clear bribe. She meant to entice him back into her bar. Free booze to soften him up, he guessed, before what? Was she going to ask him permission to pursue Michael? The thought rankled at the idea that Michael was his to relinquish in the first place. 

Plainly that was not true if it was based on the evidence of Michael’s choice.

The last text on the unanswered chain had been sent sometime during his vigil at the sheriff’s office. She had texted him, “I’m sorry. Still need to talk.” After he had found them together. After he had brazenly claimed Michael as his to the outside world. If he had not been so eager to see Michael that morning, would she have done the same in the face of law enforcement seeking to take Michael?

Unlikely, but only because she had evidently limited knowledge about Michael. 

He glanced toward the guest bedroom, and wondered if Michael had even called her last night. He was adamant to Alex that his origins remain a secret, but there were still surface discussions to be had regarding the murder and missing persons cases. It was more than likely a follow-up interview would be scheduled based on Hank’s history of drinking and being a general nuisance at the Wild Pony.

Maria Deluca was a prime character witness for both Hank’s comings and goings, and Michael’s interactions with the public at large.

As painful as it was to acknowledge, he needed to have his own talk with Maria. He drafted and deleted a number of responses before finally settling on, “We do need to talk. ASAP. Bring Guerin’s truck to my cabin. He is staying with me.”

It was that part of him that left nice back in the Middle East that kept him from adding “it’s just as friends” or “staying in the guest room” to the text. The other part of him, the mission focused side, just used operational security as an excuse in case his or Maria’s phones were being monitored by this new FBI-guided arm of Project Shepherd.

After Caulfield his old paranoia-based instincts were just common sense now.

Balancing his laptop on his thighs, he opened and re-activated his most recently discarded cell phone as his next task. Part of the evidence that law enforcement had used to debunk Isobel’s original story about Noah’s whereabouts was the cell tower location. Two years ago it was a routine matter of access to obtain that information on a suspect or witness, but thankfully as the world moved closer to authoritarian control in some ways, the courts had moved toward privacy. If the agents obtained a warrant for Michael’s cell phone history, Alex needed to be sure nothing contradicted the alibi provided.

The fastest way to a warrant on blood and hair would be a demonstrable false statement on Michael’s whereabouts, or Alex’s own movements.

He froze in the middle of cloning his cell phone location data to the new phone for Michael, his ears straining for the sound that tripped his background concentration. A soft cry of distress was audible from the direction of the guest bedroom.

Michael.

Quickly he shoved his laptop and cell equipment aside on the bed, and shifted his thighs over to the edge of the bed. The mundane annoyance of his amputation prickled at him, shocked anew by how much of a production it was for him to get out of bed. He grabbed his crutches and used his bare left foot to balance before hauling himself upright. 

Cords and cables scattered across the floor and his comforter in a noisy clatter. It didn’t register as important to him, as he thumped his way down the hallway to the other bedroom. The door was ajar, and he could hear unintelligible mutterings inside.

“Momma…momma no!”

Alex’s heart broke as he pushed the door open fully, to reveal Michael twisted in the bed sheet. Dumped on the floor were most of the heavy blankets and quilts. He could see a wet sheen on Michael’s face, either a trace of night sweat or worse, tears. Drawing on his experience with nightmares, Alex stood just out of range and called his name in a normal tone, “Michael.”

He writhed on the bed in unease, muttering garbled syllables under his breath. 

“Michael, wake up.” Alex rapped on the floor with his crutch, mimicking the ordinary sound of entry. “It’s me, wake up.”

“It’s open,” Michael slurred in an automatic response, before shooting upright in surprise. His sleep-mussed curls were standing in riotous disarray as he blinked in disorientation at him. His fuzzy gaze sharpened into a sweet smile as he recognized him. “You’re here,” he murmured in disbelieving pleasure. 

Unsure if Michael was still caught in the dream, Alex moved closer to him taking in the heavy-lidded daze and sleepy confusion with a soft smile. “I think that’s my line.”

He turned his head to take in the surroundings, puzzlement painted on his face. “Where… oh, your cabin. Oh.” Slowly as he gained more coherence a frozen look of sorrow replaced the sleep-ruffled sweetness. “Fuck, thought I dreamed it.” Michael scrubbed at his face with balled up fists before glancing down at his left hand in horror. “FUCK!”

Alex turned to sit on the bed, carelessly dropping the crutches in his haste and reached for him to hold. “Hey, hey… you’re okay.”

For a long moment he thought Michael would pull away; his muscles stayed rigid under the embrace before he let out a low exhale and collapsed into Alex’s arms. He buried his face into Alex’s neck, nosing against the warm bare skin with a shudder as the recall of his nightmare caught up with him. “All gone... they are all gone. I’m empty now. Got nothing.”

“No, Michael, no, you’re not empty,” Alex murmured into his hair, stroking his back tenderly. His tears from before reappeared at the despair, burning on the edges of his vision. “I know it hurts, I know, but you’re not empty.”

“Inside it’s hollow. I felt it, felt her, felt warm and complete. She loved me and now she’s gone. Max is gone,” Michael choked out between sobs, shaking in horror even as he held onto Alex tighter. “All of them left me. My people… all like me. All gone.”

Helplessly Alex returned the embrace, nuzzling the curls with his lips as the sobs grew harsher under his loving touch. “Oh sweetheart,” the endearment slipped out thoughtlessly, as wet tears were pressed into his skin. “I know, I’m so sorry, but you have Isobel. You have me. You’re not alone and we will get Max back, I promise.”

Michael quivered under his touch, and murmured something indistinct into Alex’s collarbone. 

He was intimately aware that he was only in a loose pair of basketball shorts and no shirt. Between Michael’s collapse at the Wild Pony and the kiss they had shared at the Sheriff’s office, his skin prickled with the knowledge that this was the most contact he had shared with anyone, let alone Michael, in months. It was surely wrong to feel this selfishly good to have Michael in his arms again. 

Alex closed his eyes, pushing down the guilt-ridden voice that called him a monster for taking comfort in the contact. It was not the time for his bullshit when Michael was in so much pain. “I didn’t get that?”

“I don’t…” he replied lowly, the emotional outburst drained away to ashes. “I don’t have you.”

That hurt. Alex took a deep breath, and sat back a little, his hands coming up to hold Michael’s face to meet his eyes. His thumbs smoothed the tear marks away gently, “I meant it, before. You are my family, Michael. I know that feeling is hard to trust, but I'm not going anywhere.”

“Because this time is somehow going to be different? Why?” Michael’s hand drifted down to touch Alex’s chest, pressing against his heart meaningfully. “I’ve needed you before, lots of times, and now when I’ve got absolutely nothing to offer you, when I’m thinking about moving on from this, you wanna be here for me.”

“Yeah.” He dropped his hands down from Michael’s face, covering his palm against his chest as he took a deep breath. His heart clenched tightly inside his chest as he fought to find the words. “My timing sucks, I know. I just… I've lost a lot too, but you were always there for me and I just want you to know the same thing goes for you. I’m here, whatever shape that takes.”

“I just don’t understand.” Michael said, his eyes on their intertwined hands. “And I can’t trust what I don’t understand. You’re doing all these things, saying this stuff, why? Guilt? Duty?”

“I can’t change the past,” Alex replied weakly, pressing Michael’s hand harder against his chest. “I can just try to be better now, not repeat the same mistakes. I um... I... “ His throat clicked, as he fought to say the words that had been ripped out of his mind in Isobel’s mind-space. 

Michael exhaled, closing his eyes for a long moment. “I want to believe you, Alex.”

“But you don’t.” 

“It's just so hard. Our past, the fucking present, it’s hard. I don’t have it in me to fight now.” 

Alex’s eyes burned again with regret as he blinked away the building tears. “I get it, you don’t have to-”

“Max said I needed to stop living in the past and move forward,” Michael said cutting him off. “I mean, I love you, but that hasn’t changed anything in the past. The definition of insanity is doin’ the same thing over and over again and expecting a different outcome.” Michael tucked his head down, keeping his hand splayed on Alex’s chest as Alex froze under the declaration. His beautifully long, undamaged fingers spread wide against the tan skin, and tapped lightly against Alex’s rising ribcage. “It’s just exhausting, and it hurts. Everything hurts. My mom, your family, fucking Noah and now Max. And I'm tired of it hurting. I'm tired of it being so hard.”

Alex took a deep breath as he roiled in the mixed feelings. The brief pleasure of hearing Michael say he loved him, present tense, warred with the knowledge that it wasn’t enough. In the aftermath of so much death, love could not overcome it. The slow four beat hold of his breath helped him push down his disappointment and pain in the face of Michael’s limitless grief. 

Well. Now he knew, words to match against the fearful thoughts circling since Michael had failed to show at the Airstream. He couldn’t blame Michael for coming to that conclusion, the scientific method was against them considering the past ten years and even more so amidst the recent death and destruction around them. Tenderly, he gathered Michael’s hand from his chest and held it up to his lips, laying a soft kiss on the back of his restored hand. 

He had the power to grant this benediction for Michael, but not much else.

“It’s okay, I just want you to be safe and happy, even if it’s not with me.” Alex dipped his head down, avoiding Michael’s gaze and focused on the smooth, healed skin under his lips. The ruined bones were gone, but the rocky history between them was harder to erase. “I'm sorry I can’t give you the distance that you want, that I told the police that we were together.”

“You were jus’ tryin’ to help in the moment.” Michael’s voice was rough and thick in the dim light. “’M not mad ‘bout that. I should thank you for keepin’ me safe.”

“You don’t have to thank me for that. I didn’t do a great job of keeping you safe in the past. It’s just, all I could picture was Caulfield, and seeing you in a cell. I couldn’t help but panic.”

“Caulfield is all I can picture too when I close my eyes.” Michael yawned softly, his eyes growing heavy under the tender touches. He shifted along the bed to lay down again, the top sheet slipping down off his naked hip. 

Alex pulled eyes forcefully from the golden skin and the dark trail of hair on his stomach, ignoring the hint that he was bare under the light linen sheet. He stroked the top of his hand one last time before resting it back on the bed. 

“I know it doesn’t mean much right now,” he offered quietly, bending to retrieve his crutches from the floor. “But she wanted you to live and to be free. I have to believe that she is at peace now knowing that you are.”

Michael smiled bitterly in the predawn light. “It’s a nice thought. Better than the reality, that she died knowing I got her killed.”

*** 

Gutted by the knowledge of how much guilt Michael was carrying, Alex returned to his work on spoofing the cell phone data with a renewed purpose. It was soothing to work on a problem that he had the knowledge to fix, even if that knowledge was the result of his reluctant enlistment at seventeen. Holding something he had carried through his last tour in Iraq and being able to use it to help Michael felt karmically right. He rubbed his fingers over the scuff marks and tiny chips, the phone still sporting the signs of his rough handling overseas making it look realistically the possession of an auto mechanic. 

Michael found him later in the kitchen, dressed with his prosthesis in place, balancing his laptop on the kitchen counter where breakfast was in progress while he shopped for security cameras, motion detectors, and Wi-Fi boosters to outfit the surrounding woods and driveway to the cabin.

“Infrared lenses and thermal sensitive cameras?” There was little sign of the early morning breakdown on Michael’s face. He was redressed in his clothes from yesterday with the kink of his curls a little more frayed than before. The black bandanna was back, wrapped tightly around his left hand. Alex wondered again about what Max had done and why now did he heal the hand. Michael had yet to volunteer the information. “That’s a weird Christmas list.”

“Just a precaution in case we have unexpected company.” Alex looked over his shoulder with a grim smile, before returning to watching the stove top. “There’s coffee. I'm making sausage egg biscuits for breakfast if you're interested.”

“We put your dad in a pod yesterday. Are you really expecting more company?” Michael picked up the coffee pot to pour a cup out, and then topped off Alex’s mug absently. 

“I haven’t pulled apart my dad’s cell yet, so I don’t know how quickly he is going to be missed by Flint or anyone else. I would rather have a nice warning system just to be safe. It was stupid not to have it already in place, really.”

“Yeah you really should have planned on taking down the whole government because of an alien conspiracy. Weird how you missed it. You’re slipping, Alex.”

“I admit, I kinda lost a step since Iraq.” Alex replied, deadpan. “Never did find it.” He tapped on the titanium shin, catching Michael by surprise. Pain chased the reluctant humor on Michael’s face as he sputtered.

“That’s awful.” He sobered, his face growing distant in remembered anguish. “I know you joke, but what happened to you really freaks me out sometimes. You could have died over there and I wouldn’t have known.”

Alex’s own humor vanished, as he turned off the stove burners and met Michael’s expression patiently. “I didn’t die though. I lived, and I get to make that joke, because that’s the victory of living. I mean, it sucked, and I have a ton of adaptive therapies now, but I survived.”

“I saw your medicine cabinet. That’s a lot of meds, Alex.”

“Snooping were you?” Alex raised his eyebrow.

“I was looking for acetone. It helps me sleep. Came up empty though, should have figured 'Air Force Alex' can’t paint his nails anymore.” 

Alex considered and discarded many responses. He had noticed Michael’s drinking of it at the cave, and Isobel’s flask, and he wondered what the ratio of self-medication versus alien power support was. He suspected based on the observed amount of drinking he had seen, Michael did more self-medicating than was really warranted. However, that was an issue best tackled in the future where life was not so full of sharp edges and trauma.

He was actually a little jealous of his ability to seek out oblivion. The mentioned medication regimen kept him drinking strictly one beer in an evening to unwind. 

“Well since we’re going to be living together, I’m sure it doesn’t shock you that I have a form of PTSD. So if I space out, or get locked into a flashback, just call my name and knock on something close by. It’s not a good idea to touch me until I acknowledge you.” Alex laid out his new reality with little to no expression in his voice, as he brought the plates down from the cabinet. He paused, keeping his back to him, “And Guerin, you would have known. If I had died. I had that in my advanced directives.”

He plated a pair of warm biscuit sandwiches and toast, handing one to Michael before balancing his laptop and plate to carry to the table. Before he could protest, his plate lifted invisibly from his hands along with his coffee cup to float to the table. 

Michael rolled his eyes, lightening the mood between them. “Telekinetic alien. Carrying stuff is so last year.”

“Handy.” Alex held up his palm in entreaty, “Don’t say it, I know, you didn’t use your hands.” For a moment he let himself enjoy sitting across from Michael at the breakfast table, seeing how the well water and generic shampoo turned those well-loved curls into a halo of chaos. It was a scene out of his deepest fantasies that he constructed based on movies and books. Warm domesticity was a foreign concept to him with his childhood.

He crunched on a piece of toast, watching Michael drain his coffee cup with a relish before immediately bringing the pot over to the table with his mind. “I never asked, but what’s your job situation with Sanders's? Do you have a set schedule?”

“Nah, not really. Whatever he leaves in the lot is fair game for me to repair. I just have to let him know what my time on a project was, so he can bill the customer. He’s got a nephew who handles the stupid shit, like oil changes and alignment checks.” Michael sipped at his cup and then nodded to Alex, “How about you? You’re not in uniform, so I take you are off too?”

“I've got a lot of accumulated leave to use up, that they don’t want to have to cash out for me when my contract is up.”

Michael soured a little, “Yeah, it’s not like you came home much during the last ten years, I guess that adds up after a while.”

He took a deep breath in and exhaled deeply, the fantasy warmth shattered by the pointed reminder of the past. “You’re right,” he acknowledged. “It was hard to come back here when I didn’t have a place to stay. There was only so much couch surfing I could do at Maria’s, and with you, I was trying to keep you off my dad’s radar. This cabin is the first home I’ve ever had.”

“Yeah, I can tell, the decor is very _you_.”

The unremarkable furnishings and the animal head by the fireplace were all the touches of a middle-aged man who enjoyed masculine hobbies of fishing and hunting. The bookshelf had old John LeCarre novels, wedged next to a tape deck stereo and a battered Rummikub board game box. Everywhere he looked there were elements of time frozen in amber from the ownership of Jim Valenti but nothing of himself. 

He could see it from Michael’s perspective, that for all of his promises to stay, the cabin looked like the home of someone with one foot out the door, and he had lived here for months. Always looking for that reason to walk away, Michael had jibed once to him. It was unfortunately a fair point.

“I’ll put decorating on the list after I get the security system installed.” Alex mopped up the remains of the sausage and eggs with his square of toast. “Speaking of lists, I took the liberty of setting up a new phone for you. In case Torres can’t get the request denied, at least if they subpoena your phone, the data will match up with the alibi. It looks like the FBI is taking the murder case too, since they sent the Gibbons body to Albuquerque.”

“I know I slept like shit, but did you sleep at all?”

“I got about five hours, but yeah, I don’t sleep much. More souvenirs from my time abroad.” Alex sat back, pushing his plate away and reopened his laptop. “Your ship project, do you think it would fit in the trailer? That bunker door will be visible when we move it, and I don’t think leaving it unsecured is a good idea.”

Michael stood and started clearing the table of the breakfast dishes. “It will make it a tight squeeze, but yeah, I could probably empty out my lab into the Airstream. You really think the feds can get a warrant to search it?”

“I'm trying to cover every variable. I don’t want to be wrong again.” Too many people had died already. 

The sound of the loud purr of a classic engine cut through his silent self-flagellation. Although he guessed the identity of the visitor, he still reached under his black button down shirt for his handgun. “Stay here.”

Like a painful repeat of before, Michael sputtered in denial, “What? No!”

Alex rolled his eyes in annoyance at Michael’s stubborn refusal, and he stepped to the front of the cabin windows to peer out the garishly dark curtains. As he suspected, the mint green vintage body of the 1968 Chevy was parked neatly next to his SUV. 

“That’s my truck.”

“That’s Maria. I asked her to bring it here for you. I figured you still kept the spare key in the back wheel well magnet.” Alex took a deep breath, counting silently to four before stepping toward the front door. He straightened his back, slipping the handgun back into the holster, and pushed himself forward, his gait heavy with the dread of this confrontation.

The last time he had seen his best friend, she had been kissing the love of his life.

He had to focus on this being Michael’s choice, as he was free to kiss whoever he wanted. It would hurt no matter what, even with the soft admission that Michael still loved him replayed in his brain at inopportune times.

Michael brightened in response, and moved past him to beat him to the door. He ambled down the steps of the cabin to meet Maria as she slipped out of the front cab. “You better not have left a scratch on my baby, Deluca.”

“Who could tell under the dirt, Guerin? When’s the last time your baby or you had a bath?” She shot back playfully. 

“You just want to get me naked again, I’m on to you.” He opened his palm gesturing for the keys. 

“Ha-ha,” She dropped the keys in his hand, then her arms made an awkward aborted move to touch Michael. Maria sobered, and lifted her eyes, still warm but guarded, past him to meet Alex’s closed expression. “I got your message.”

Alex licked his lower lip nervously, before stowing the sharp stab of pain at their easy flirty banter. He could do this. “Sorry I texted so early, yesterday was a shit show.”

“It’s okay, I was already awake. It was bad enough when Max told me a serial killer was finding his victims at my bar, but then for one of the bodies to be left in the parking lot? No way I could sleep after that.” Maria pressed her hands into her black velvet jacket, shuddering in reaction. “Obviously I’m shutdown for a few days since you can’t operate a bar that is a crime scene.”

Michael creased his forehead in concern. “Are you going to be okay with that, money-wise?” 

Over the time since he had come home to Roswell, Alex had gleaned from his conversations with Maria that the bar was running at a maybe break-even level and her expenses with Mimi at Sunset Mesa made that margin of debt even narrower than ever. The acknowledgment of her financial strain from Michael gave him pause; it revealed a deeper relationship than he had guessed at earlier.

“I'm not thrilled about it, but I figure once this is over I will do a serial killer themed bar night. Charge double my cover for all the true crime fans and recoup my lost earnings.” She paused, and knocked her shoulder into Michael’s playfully, “But you paying your bar tab wouldn’t hurt.”

“If I'm not locked up for murder, I’ll get right on that.” 

Alex swallowed hard again, and grabbed onto the opening that Michael left. “That’s why I texted, we needed to give you a head’s up on this. The feds are here because Noah Bracken was reported missing, and they think Guerin had something to do with it. They also want to pin that body that was found at your bar on him too.”

Maria looked at Michael searchingly, before stepping up to the porch. “I have so many questions.”

“I know. I have coffee inside,” Alex offered, holding open the door to his cabin. “I’ll even make it Irish.”

“Better take him up on that, Deluca. My experience is this story is best told with alcohol.” 


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter was incredibly hard to write. Thank you all for reading, commenting, and being so kind.

“Wow.” Maria sat back on the old couch, leaning slightly toward Michael next to her, in a way that Alex chose to blame on the aging cushions. She reached up to touch her necklace pensively. “This is not what I was expecting to hear when I headed up here. I knew Noah Bracken was a cheating dog, I didn’t know he was a murderous one.”

Alex tipped more whiskey into Maria’s coffee cup, wishing momentarily he had doctored his. It was easy enough to let Michael take the lead, explaining to Maria about that night at the gala and how Max and Jenna Cameron had narrowed in on Noah being the Ranchero Night serial killer. He was also careful only to explain the mundane elements of the crime, and that Noah preyed on vulnerable people no one would miss. 

Rosa Ortecho was left out of the story. Her death was still a painful subject for Maria, and her resurrection was impossible to include without revealing the existence of aliens. 

The time to address Michael’s firm refusal on that matter would unfortunately have to be later.

“He was good at fooling people. He knew how to hide what he was from everyone.” Michael glanced down at his hands. 

“Why did he drug me that night?” Maria asked, tensing in remembered horror. “Was I his next victim because I could place him with Carla?”

Michael put his hand on hers, squeezing it sympathetically in reassurance. “No. You intercepted a drink meant for Jenna Cameron. He was trying to escape the cops.”

“And, did he? Is he still out there?”

Alex held his breath. He was not sure how Michael would answer. His own comfort in lying was limited to law enforcement and keeping the innocent out of government-sponsored cages. There was an uncomfortable burden in continuing to lie to someone he cared for like Maria. Michael’s request meant he would be carrying that weight, however unwillingly, with her.

Organically the knowledge of aliens had spread to trusted allies, like Kyle and Jenna. He was not sure why Maria had been left out of the circle for this long. 

“No. You don’t have to worry about him again,” Michael answered flatly.

Maria looked at Michael and then back to Alex, expectantly. She pulled her hand away, and touched her necklace again nervously. “Okay, that sounds like he’s dead.”

Michael stayed silent, fiddling with the black cloth wrapped around his hand absently.

“Seriously? He’s dead? Did you kill him Guerin?”

“No, he didn’t do anything to him, okay?” Alex finally spoke up, unsure if Michael would defend himself or not, at the accusation. “He’s not a killer.”

Michael shot him a glance of confused gratitude before sighing. “Nah, I don’t have the stones for it. This can’t go any further, Maria. If I tell you this, you gotta promise me you will keep this to yourself.”

Maria shifted on the couch, edging some space between them before turning to Alex’s tense position in the arm chair. She licked her lower lip in contemplation, as she fixed her attention between the two of them. Alex realized after a moment that she was attempting to read them psychically and wondered if keeping secrets was a moot point. 

“All right. I promise.”

“Max killed him the other night. He just kinda snapped, realizing what Noah had done, and what he could still do to Isobel. It was in self-defense, it's not like he was going to go down easy.” Michael dropped his head down, and blew out a tired breath noisily. “I covered it up and helped him get rid of the body.”

“Jesus, Guer.” Maria looked torn between alarm at the admission of a crime and relief that it was not as terrible as she thought. “If Max did this, why are the feds looking to blame you? He’s a fucking cop, they can pretty much shoot anyone these days.”

“Max wasn’t acting as a sheriff’s deputy. He was acting like a protective brother. From what I can tell, he never tied Noah to the victims officially,” Alex explained quietly, picking up the story. “Noah’s secretary reported him missing which opened the investigation. Somewhere along the line a witness came forward saying they saw Noah arguing with Guerin.”

“It’s whatever, cops have a short list of criminal suspects in Roswell anyway. They came looking for me at Sanders's and found Alex instead,” Michael smiled wryly, “and when those FBI dicks tried to search my place without a warrant, Alex got in their faces and tossed them right out.”

He fought to keep the embarrassment from his face, and chided back, “Hey, that trailer of yours is private property, something you shouted in my face when I got back to Roswell. I was just following your example.” 

“And what, you thought your military ass was the only one allowed to trespass?”

Alex met Michael’s gold-flecked gaze, warm with amusement. “You never minded in the past.”

“Wow,” Maria injected. Her head swiveling back and forth to follow their byplay with a confused air, and she snapped her fingers at them to regain their focus. “Can we get back to Max for a moment? I get that he wants to cover his ass, but why are you letting him? Just turn him in, let him explain himself.”

The brief amusement drained from Michael’s face and the familiar look from the last day of grief and fatigue replaced it. “For one thing, Max is gone. He flipped out and took off. I don’t know if... when, he’ll be back. And for another, I have to think about Isobel too.”

Maria made a face at the name, taking a long sip of her coffee. “Explain to me why you care about the Stepford Wife of Roswell.”

Alex watched Michael visibly struggle with the question. For all the care and knowledge he had about Maria’s life, it was a little disconcerting how little Maria knew about him in turn, right down to his sibling relationships. He was reminded of his own shortcomings when it came to knowing who Michael was as a person, how late in their relationship that he finally asked the simple questions of where he was raised and who were his family. 

Years of secrecy was a hard habit to break for both of them.

“This is not common knowledge, okay?” Michael began, having come to another decision. “I consider Isobel and Max my siblings. We all met at the same group home when we were kids. I grew up without a real family, but they claimed me as theirs. So, yeah, I would do anything to protect them.”

“Oh.” Maria sat back, shocked. Her face grew distant as she reflected over her memories and his history, lining up the new information to fit with the old. “I had no idea. I knew you hung out with them, from high school, but this...”

“They got adopted, I didn’t. It’s ancient history.”

“You keep a lot of secrets under that black cowboy hat, Guerin.” She bit her lower lip in thought, and glanced over to Alex. Her coffee cup was empty, but she still picked up the bottle of whiskey to pour a healthy splash. “First you kiss my best friend in high school, and now you have two siblings. What else are you hiding?”

Michael shifted uneasily at the question, before turning away with a closed expression. “Look if all of this is too much-”

“I told the police that Guerin and I have been hiding a ten-year love affair,” Alex interrupted, cutting him off of what he recognized as one of Michael’s defense mechanisms triggered by insecurity. 

Silence met his statement. Maria’s hand froze toward her mouth with the cup in hand, before she rested it on the coffee table with a heavy drop. 

He exhaled forcefully, and carried on fumbling in his defense. “Obviously I didn’t know you guys were together, Maria. I mean, how could I? However, it was part of how I kept the feds out of the trailer. I said that he was my partner and I didn’t consent to their entry into our home.” 

“Don’t forget about the alibi you provided,” Michael offered, swiping the bottle of whiskey from the table to take a gulp from it, wiping the back of his mouth. He met Alex’s disapproving look with a careless shrug. “Hey, I live here now, thanks to you. I like to drink straight from the bottle, Deluca will tell you that.”

“Right.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly at the reminder and dared a glance over to Maria’s frozen expression. “After he took you home from the gala, I guess I sort of told them that Guerin and I ended up together that night. All night and then every night since. And um, every night going forward until he’s cleared by the police.”

Abruptly she pulled her hand away from her necklace and choked out a disbelieving laugh, “Your text message from this morning is making a lot more sense now. It goes along with the questions I was asked yesterday about Guerin.”

Alex frowned, and tensed in his seat. “What exactly did you tell them?”

He had been betting on the normal questions being asked, such as when Maria opened and closed the bar, whether she had seen Hank leave with anyone, anything to establish a window of opportunity and place to comb for witnesses. It did not bode well that the agents were already looking into Michael’s background with the local bartender.

“Relax, I didn’t tell them anything of value. They asked if I knew Guerin, they asked if I knew you. I answered yes to both questions. They asked if you guys knew each other, I think I pissed off the one with the receding hairline because I told him I wasn’t your social secretary,” Maria replied and shrugged in studied superiority. “Then I answered a bunch of questions about Racist Hank and his comings and goings. Now I know why they were asking me about you, Alex. I couldn’t figure out the connection.”

“Agent Ross doesn’t feel it is a coincidence that they found me and Hank’s body at your bar. So not only do they think I did something to Noah, they also think I’m some sort of psycho killing people in Roswell.” Michael sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose. “And don’t get me started on Rollins, the dude is a homophobe. He is not hiding the fact that he is disgusted by queer people at all.”

“However offensive they were, they are right about the psycho killing people in Roswell,” Alex put in. “They are just wrong about who it was. And we can’t give them Noah, not without putting both Max and Isobel in jeopardy.”

“Which is not happening.” 

“Right,” Alex echoed, reinforcing Michael’s flat denial. “I brought in a lawyer to help on the legal side, but honestly, we just have to stick to the story that Michael was nowhere near the Wild Pony and stonewall them. Eventually this case and Noah’s will go cold, and the feds will be recalled to Albuquerque. Can we count on you, Maria? You don’t even have to lie really.”

She twisted her ring around her finger in a preoccupied fidget, before tugging a bit on the ornate bracelet slipping over her palm. “Don’t I?”

“I meant about not seeing Guerin those nights, not about- I mean- clearly that part-”

Michael wrapped his fingers around hers, nervously fidgeting with her jewelry, and kindly calmed the motion. He brought her palms between his, and moistened his lips to speak. “Deluca, I am asking a lot, I know. That conversation you and I were going to have, I still wanna have it, okay, ‘s long as you still want to. Do you?”

Maria dropped her gaze to their clasped hands, before chancing a look to the right where Alex was watching them both. “I um...”

Feeling a bit like a third wheel, Alex stood up, bracing against the ill-timed stab of pain from his right hip. It made for a nice distraction from what his heart was doing. “I'm going to go clean up from breakfast, um, let you two have a chance to talk. Then um, when you’re ready, I’ll take you back to the Pony.”

He gathered her coffee cup and the whiskey bottle and fled to the kitchen. His old Intro to Strategic Power Structure instructor would have lectured him in ceding the field to an adversary, but he knew himself. 

The cabin was small enough that even as he gathered the remains of his domestically cozy breakfast he had shared with Michael, he could still catch bits of the conversation in the living room.

“So are you back to being closed for me?”

Maria replied something indistinct in return. 

“I know, I know it’s not that simple. I get it, if this is too weird, my being here-”

Alex bit his lower lip, closing the lid to the egg carton and turned off the coffee pot. This time he caught her voice with clarity, “I mean it is a little weird. Putting aside you covering up a murder. This… I mean he’s my best friend, and you’re his high school flame, you told me it was over between you two but here you are.”

“High school was ten years ago. It’s like you said, we have history-”

He turned the taps to the kitchen sink, and let the noise of the water drown out Michael’s insistent argument to prove the demise of their relationship. The warm water filled the basin, as he began the task of washing the remains off their plates. Carefully he kept his mind blank as he scrubbed at a stubborn dried bit of egg. All too soon the sink filled, and he was forced to shut off the water.

“This town is filled with gossiping busybodies. If you and Alex are living together happily ever after, posed like some sort of Hallmark card, well, I can’t be a part of that.”

“I know, and I wouldn’t ask that of you. Just… just. Fuck. I don’t have a good track record on asking this, but will you wait? For me? For us?”

This kitchen really needed a door, he decided. Something heavy and solid. Immovable if he wanted to shut out and block chatter from the living spaces. If he wanted quiet and safety. A door would be a useful layer between him and the rest of the world at this moment.

Alex held his hands under the water, watching the dish soap bubbles slowly pop and dissipate. The sheen of discarded grease swirled in rainbow patterns across the surface tension of the wash water. It was rather pretty. What was left over after a meal. After someone had had their fill and was done. Done with him. 

“How long do you think this will last?”

“I don’t know. Like Alex said, the feds won’t stay here forever, no one has that type of budget. A couple of months, maybe? If I can get Max back here, maybe sooner.”

“Great. I'm waiting for your freaked out cop brother to return from his walkabout, so he can quash a murder investigation into my maybe boyfriend and all, so he can stop living in faked romantic bliss with my best friend who is-”

“Who is what?”

“Have you talked to Alex, Guerin? About why he is doing this? About how he feels-”

Fuck his life, he thought numbly, and squeezed his eyes shut. He gripped the sink edge and held off the panic attack by counting as he held his breath. His lungs started screaming at the denial until he finally relented under the pressure.

“Alex has a savior complex, okay? He could save me in the moment, so he did. You know Maria, better than anyone I bet, how far Alex goes to make sure things are right. He might as well wear a cape instead of camo.”

“I think it might be a bit more than just that-”

Michael’s response was too soft to catch. Then Alex heard him clear his throat, his voice tight with grief, “my life has gone wildly off the rails, okay? Like I can’t even tell you how shitty it is, and it’s all out of my control. But, before everything got fucked up, I knew one thing. That I like you. And I think you like me too. You don't have to wait. I would like it if you would- “

Alex dislodged the drain, and emptied the sink. It swallowed the rest of Michael’s plea. 

“I can’t believe I’m even considering this. I have to be crazy. But okay.”

“Okay?”

“I’m a moron, but what’s the rush, right? My life is pretty complicated right now without you, with just my mom. We can save our conversation for that time when things... aren’t like this. Not only do I not usually go for guys with parole officers, but I definitely don’t do prison pen pals.”

Alex heard Michael laugh weakly in relief at the acceptance.

“I just have one condition, Guerin.”

Scrupulously he dried his hands on a kitchen towel, and then pressed the rough grain of cloth against his face, blotting any evidence of weakness. 

“What type of condition are we talking about?” Michael asked, a new wariness evident in his voice. 

“That when the time comes, you’re honest with me. About everything.” There was a pause, and she scoffed disbelievingly. “That’s right, cowboy, I noticed the hand. If you can’t be honest with me, then at least don’t insult my intelligence.” 

Alex heard the low undertone of Michael’s reply, and then Maria spoke again, her voice gentle and sweet, “Oh, Guer, I know you’re not okay. Hmm-mmm. Just let me know what you need, okay? My heart can’t take that look on your face.”

It was quiet in the next room. He kept his back to the kitchen doorway and took a deep breath, holding it in as he trained his eyes to his laptop. Focusing his attention on the day’s agenda, and not the fact that they might be kissing in his living room was a struggle, but he managed by holding onto bullet point facts.

There was a shipment notification already for the security equipment. 

There might be an AWOL alert issued for his father in a few days, either in Niger or his last duty station in Roswell. 

There was a well funded, military run project into studying and imprisoning aliens to unravel with connections to law enforcement, both past and present.

“Hey.”

Alex locked down the lingering tendrils of turmoil from his face, and forced a smile on his lips as he turned to face Michael. He considered himself successful as Michael hovered uncertainly on the threshold but did not comment on the redness in his eyes. “Hey, is Maria ready to go then?”

“Yeah,” he raked his fingers through his curls. “I can take her back into town if you want though.”

“No!” Alex paused, and softened his voice deliberately. “I mean it’s not a good idea for you to be seen at her bar together. I'm sure it is still crawling with cops today. Just, let me take her home and then I will meet you at Sanders's, and um, help you pack.” 

“You’re the boss.” 

*** 

“I’m sorry, Alex.”

He kept his gaze straight ahead, navigating the winding track that made up his gravel driveway with more concentration that it required. Alex caught the flash of green in his rear-view mirror, as Michael followed the SUV in the distance in his own truck. He was close enough behind them to see the black brim of his cowboy hat back in place. 

“I know. It’s okay.” Alex reached for the radio knob, to break the quiet with music. 

Maria covered his hand, stilling the motion. “You know, I'm psychic. It's not okay, I know that. You have feelings for him still and I-”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” He tugged his hand free from her touch, returning it to the steering wheel. Another retreat from the battlefield. Damnit, he thought, he was still not fighting his own battles. “But I guess we should.”

“I kissed him-”

“ _He_ kissed you too. I mean, I saw it. And _he_ showed up at your bar when I thought he was going to meet me. And I’m a fucking idiot. Have we covered the greatest hits of my stupidity here?” He tightened his grip, letting the strain bleach his knuckles briefly white before he deliberately relaxed his grip and let his hand drift to the modified steering column.

She covered her mouth, shuddering at his unmerciful words. “And you can’t forgive me.”

Alex blanked his face deliberately, and wondered if pulling over and letting Michael drive her back wasn’t the wiser idea. Except, that would not solve anything. He was painfully aware that running away had never repaired any of his relationships. “I didn’t say that.”

“I'm still sorry, I should have talked to you first...”

“Why? It doesn't change anything. You like him. He,” Alex’s voice broke suddenly, “he likes you. You’re both adults, free to choose each other.”

“I wanted to talk to you about it, but I didn’t know how. I put it off too long, and then you started to avoid my texts,” Maria pointed out in an explanation.

“Fine. It’s not okay, I was avoiding you because the thought of him with anyone kills me inside. I don’t know if it is better or worse that it’s you. You’re amazing, and I’m-” He pressed the weight down that had lodged itself in his throat down. “I’m complicated for him, so some of that is on me. I kinda brought it on myself, so dealing with this isn’t your problem, okay? It’s mine.”

“He told me it was over, that it had been over for a long time,” Maria said quietly. “I know when people lie to me, Alex. I wouldn’t have let him back in if I thought he was lying to me.”

Alex blinked rapidly, and pressed the renewed knot of emotion back down his throat again. He felt like Sisyphus, and the lost opportunities with Michael was his stone to constantly shove upward. Some days he fooled himself into believing that he could overcome it, only to have it slide unforgiving into his chest all over again. 

“Can you tell if they are lying to themselves?” He chanced a glance over to her face, before continuing, “Because I can. I could tell after you said it meant nothing.”

“Well... to be fair, I thought it meant nothing to him and I wanted it to mean nothing to me.” Maria clicked her rings against the car door, and groaned in agitation. “Do you know how many people he has hooked up with over the last ten years since you told me about the Museum kiss? It’s a lot, and I was so mad at myself for being one in a long list of stupid women who fall for that bad boy cowboy thing he does.”

“I’m familiar with his charms,” Alex commented dryly.

“So you know! I swore him to secrecy in Texas, because sleeping with a patron is a bad look and yet the next thing I know, you’re standing in my bar feeling warm and hopeful about him and I want to kill him. Because not only did he get me to break my no-customer rule, but he told you. The one thing I asked him not to do, he did.” Maria stopped her rant, and turned to him as the thought occurred to her. “Why the hell were you feeling hopeful about him if you knew we had slept together?”

Alex sighed, glancing back in the mirror to see Michael still following behind as they reached the interstate back toward Roswell. “Because I thought I was on the same page as him, that we were going to start over together and try again. I couldn’t exactly start over and still be mad about something that happened while we were broken up.” He shrugged with a constructed casual indifference. 

“You were mad though. You were mad at me when you brought it up.” Maria rubbed her fingers against her pendant. 

“Well, I didn’t want to be mad, okay? I was more mad at myself.” He smiled sadly, having gone over the last ten years of mistakes he had made with them both more than once since. “That Texas rounder would have never happened if I had been able to get over my bullshit and tell you who he was to me. I don’t know, maybe I'm kidding myself. You know now how I still feel about him and nothing has changed... like I said, it’s my problem.” 

“I thought you were still hung up on a high school kiss. But the way you two are together, that’s... more. You guys had a relationship. Fuck. What you told the cops when you alibi-ed him out was actually true. It really has been a ten-year-long secret love affair between you guys.” Maria groaned in annoyance, “I’m back to wanting to kill him now.”

“Why? You used all the right terms. It's been ten years. It was a secret. And we _had_ a relationship. It’s over,” Alex bit each word out precisely, tasting the bitter truth. “He wants to move on, with you. And he is allowed to make that choice...” 

“And what about you? I can feel it, it’s not over for you.”

“He knows where I stand and what I want. It's just not what he wants right now from me. I have to respect that.” He looked into the mirror, watching Michael take the turn toward the industrial side of Roswell. They were always on two different paths. “I’m not mad at him.”

Maria pursed her lips in thought and ventured in a small voice, “And you’re not mad at me?”

“For wanting to be with him? No, that would be hypocritical of me, wouldn't it? It is pretty obvious I understand why you would be attracted to him.”

“I've been a bartender for a long time, Alex. People are hypocrites all the time.”

Alex was quiet for a moment, and reflected on the storm churning inside him. He was angry and hurt and raw from the idea of Maria having the chance at something he had wanted for so long. The emotion was familiar and well-worn, from his years of watching resentfully as happy families interacted at school events, and then later as a bystander around carefree heterosexual couples who simply held hands without fear. 

Old feelings with a new target. Maria. 

His thoughts moved to the work he had started with a therapist after Fallujah. He was overdue in setting up another appointment, but he could still remember the too-sharp awareness of the therapist pointing out his penchant for negative inward feelings. Although he never opened up about his childhood, the main topic of discussion in the aftermath of his injury was forgiveness. 

It was a gift to himself to forgive others. 

“He’s important to me. You’re right, it is not over for me. I don’t think it will ever really be over with him because that’s not how love works.” Alex took a deep breath again and glanced over to her swiftly. “You and I aren’t over either. The people I give a damn about in this world can be counted on one hand, Maria. My family is pretty limited lately, I’m not giving you up over him.”

Maria swiped at her eyes, as tears started to stream. “Well now I’m mad again, because you- fuck you for making me cry. I love you too, Alex and you better not be just saying this because you think you're not allowed to be upset-or to have wants-”

Thankfully the sign for the Wild Pony was on the horizon. As expected there were white forensic investigation vans and a tent set up in the parking lot as evidence was being collected. Day two activity had gathered more police vehicles and a few curious onlookers. 

Alex pulled around to the employee entrance side and parked the SUV. He turned the engine off, and shifted with his arms open to her.

She didn’t hesitate at his gesture, still sniffling a little to hug him closely. 

“I’m not being a martyr, Maria, I promise. I'll be okay. In time.” 

“I don’t know if I believe you. From what I can tell, you have put your whole career at risk for him and you apparently did it without thinking. For ten years you kept your feelings for him a secret from everyone, and now look.” She pulled back, studying his appearance searchingly. Her ‘psychic face’ mixed with smeared mascara and tear stains made for a unique expression. “I don’t understand why he wants to try with me when he could have you.”

Alex prayed that his voice didn't give out this time. “He wants to be happy. I want him to be happy. Our history is pretty fucked up and that makes it hard to believe that trying again makes any kind of sense. He didn’t do anything wrong here.”

“I want you to know, I didn’t plan on feeling like this for him. He just-” she trailed off, looking for the words to explain it. “When something bad happens, instead of wishing people weren’t absolute monsters, you're supposed to look around and spot the helpers. The people who run in and lend a hand. And he's always been around. Helping.” 

Maria pulled the mirror down to examine the remains of her makeup and exhaled wearily before reaching without looking to take the offered tissue from his fingertips to wipe at her face. “He’s just like you in that respect.”

“You’re not so bad at that either.” Alex lifted his eyebrow and tucked away the package of Kleenex he had produced. Even after a night of limited sleep, the chaos of police shutting down her business and crying, she was still breathtakingly beautiful. Alex wasn’t psychic but being around Maria always felt good. She was like the perfect spring day, warm and bright but just shy of blisters, chasing away the shadows and chills. He understood on a spiritual level why Michael was attracted to her.

Alex could hardly offer the same emotional escape to Michael, even as he offered shelter and protection. “Speaking of helping, you know what to do when they interview you?”

“Yes. I haven't seen anyone suspicious. I don’t know why Noah Bracken took off. Racist Hank made a lot of enemies. And yes, Captain Alex Manes and his partner Michael Guerin thought they were being secretive but really they make a nice couple and should be more open about that with their friends.”

He blushed at the ribbing comment. “Maybe don’t volunteer that unless they ask. Just play down his history of bar fights, make sure they know he isn’t violent by nature. He has no tolerance for bigots, okay?”

Maria reached for the door, and smirked a bit. “Don’t worry, I will keep him out of trouble if I can. You should know that might be a full time job for you for the next little while.”

“Wait.” Alex rolled down the window to stop her as she started toward the back entrance of the bar. She turned curiously at his call, and he hesitated before finally pushing past his reluctance. “When this is all over, and he comes to you to have that conversation. Don’t make the same mistake I did, okay? Don’t let the past or fear get in the way of what you want.”

Quickly, before she could press further and respond, he turned the engine back on and set the reverse with the steering controls. 

* * *

Alex made the short drive between the Wild Pony and Sanders's Salvage and Auto Lot pensively reflecting over his life decisions and how he had ended up where he was. Michael was looking toward Maria as a hopeful possibility and Maria was besotted by his charm and looking back. It was hard to face he might have run out of time in being ready for an adult relationship with him. 

Long ago, Alex had decided to build his family from his friends, and now he was faced with an impossible choice. Give up the only family who had embraced him, through distant overseas postings, teenage mood swings, and too much eye makeup, or learn to live with seeing Maria succeed where he had failed with Michael.

He hoped he could live up to his desire to support Maria. The hurt was still fresh, but perhaps there would be hope in a few months that his words and his feelings would be more in line with each other. 

He was not a martyr, he decided. Michael had made his choice and after everything, he had to respect that.

Watching his blood relations reduce what was left of Michael’s race into rubble re-awoke the boy Alex used to be, who believed in being kind. Who did things without expectations. He might have left nice in the Middle East but there was no reason he couldn’t try to be better. It meant he had to bury the selfish impulse to extend the sojourn of play-acting this treasured dream into months, until Maria grew tired of waiting and moved on to someone else.

It meant he had to tell Maria he was going to be okay.

He had almost calmed himself by the time he drove through the gates of Sanders's. A quick glance around at the seemingly deserted surroundings made his blood pressure spike again. The Airstream was plainly pushed to the side and thankfully hooked up to Michael’s truck hitch.

It was two gaping open sections to the bunker, the tight round circular entrance with its ladder, and a larger cavern with two large metal doors flung open, that caused a minor heart attack. There were two mounds of disturbed dirt piled on either side of the never-before revealed metal doors. Between that fresh chaos, a folded drafting table rose from the ground and floated over to the open flatbed of the truck with no sign of manual assistance.

Bold unmistakable evidence of a bad trip on acid-fuel hallucination or alien telekinetic assistance.

“What the hell...” Swiftly, Alex scanned the lot for onlookers or signs of any police surveillance. The parked cars were lined up by the repair bay and all looked empty. There were no innocuous delivery vans parked in the vicinity. However, his memory of his father’s set up in Project Shepherd meant that just because he could not see it, that did not mean it was not there. 

Forget having a broken heart, Michael’s recklessness was going to send him into an early grave first.

He stepped out of his SUV and made his way over to the bunker. He leaned to look in, listening for some notice of Michael to the sound of something approaching. Taking a deep breath to calm himself again, he unhurriedly started to descend the ladder, his prosthetic foot clanging awkwardly against the metal rungs.

Michael’s back was to the entrance, but his shoulders were tight and drawn. His attention was meticulously fixed on the gleaming half completed ship console, and next to him was an old white t-shirt with the various discarded pieces resting in, splayed in the midst of packing. “Are you finished warning her off then?”

The casual disregard for his safety and the secret of his alien roots still had Alex’s temper up. The question barely registered on his radar, still fully caught in the fear someone saw the use of telekinesis. “What?”

He tucked the console pieces lovingly into a box and shrugged. “Are you finished warning her off of me?” Michael repeated with a practiced even tone. “I figured that’s why you wanted to drive her back to the Pony. Give her the lowdown on what a bad idea I am. I mean, last time you guys talked she shot me down hard afterward.”

Alex blinked again, and started to count in his head. He was still too angry that he found the Airstream out of place and the bunker exposed for anyone to find, for him to take true offense at the idea. Later tonight, as he waited for the pills to send him to sleep, he would rewind those words. 

Already the Rolodex of personal failures had a new track to play in his head.

“No, Guerin, I did not ‘warn her off of you.” He stepped around, making eye contact with him. “I drove her, so I could reassure her that I was not mad at her.”

Michael tilted his head in confusion, a curl dropping into his eyes. “Why would she think you would be mad at her? She’s the one who has to deal with us living together.”

“I know.”

“I had to tell her that I kissed you the other day, and I might have to do it again to sell this story. She had the right to know what to expect.” His mouth twisted in a cruel smile, as he finished, “I’ve had some awkward conversations but that was the worst.”

“Well I just had to have my own. I had to tell my best friend that it was okay for her and my ex to date.”

“Your _ex_ , right. I'm not sure I even count as that, but you did dump me, Alex, remember? You said you wanted me to be happy, even if it wasn’t with you!”

Alex flushed in anger, holding onto his equilibrium with his fingernails. “I remember, and I am trying, Guerin. What you do with Maria-”

“Is not your business,” Michael interrupted. “She’s not going to blow up this farce between us, but what I do with her is separate. And I don’t need your permission-”

“You’ve made that crystal clear, playing her Patsy Cline -”

“Patsy Cline? That’s what this is about?!”

“That’s not what this is about, but I taught you that song, my mother’s song, and then-”

“For fuck’s sake, Alex, I haven’t played guitar in ten fucking years, so that’s something I knew. You don’t get to decide what is and isn’t okay. You don’t get to control me-”

“I know!” Alex shouted, losing what bit of control he had been holding onto, and silenced Michael. “And I am not doing that, okay? I’m not warning her off, I’m not interfering, I’m not giving permission. All I did was try to be a good friend and reassure her, because she asked _me,_ if I was okay with you and her. If you had more friends, Guerin, you would get it.”

As soon as the words left his mouth, Alex regretted them. It was a low blow to call back on the edges of isolationism that Michael lived. First in the middle of a vast cattle ranch, and now on the outskirts of the industrial zone of Roswell, Michael had no neighbors. There were no nine-to-five monotonous office job relationships, or casual bowling league memberships in his life. By design or by default, the result was the same. 

Michael flinched and turned away with a wounded grace to return his attention to his console. His hand stroked the multicolored glass with exaggerated care. “I read you loud and clear.”

“Guerin. Wait.”

“This console is the last thing to pack up. Everything is ready to go.” Michael swept the canvas cover over the ship brusquely. 

The temptation to leave and examine their conversation again, to find where he went wrong was front and center in his mind. Except where would he go? They were both headed to the cabin. Discarding that tactic of retreat made his skin itch, the way not having a plan of action or walking without available cover between buildings did.

“Stop,” Alex ordered, and risked a hand on Michael’s arm. “That came out wrong, okay?”

“Which part? Where you said you weren’t mad, or the part where I don’t have friends? Because kinda looks like both are true.” Michael stilled under his touch, and looked up between a curtain of curls. 

“I am mad, but not about what you said. Well. Not all of it was about that.” Alex licked his lower lip and forced himself to stay still. “I know that you know how much attention you are under with some government goons, and you have this bunker wide open? Anyone could walk in and take a tour like an open house to your secrets.”

The challenging edge and brittleness of Michael smoothed into cautious interest. “So that set you off?”

“One look at this by Agent Ross and Agent Rollins and everything from the last two days would have been for nothing.” 

Michael pursed his lips together, the interest changed into weariness. “Right, wouldn’t want your efforts to be wasted.” He gestured above their heads, “I knew it was you outside. Anyone else would have seen the iron doors and cover hatch, but wouldn’t have been able to open them.”

“How did you know it was me?”

He shrugged again, and started tucking the canvas cover needlessly over the console, taking particular care in making sure every edge was shielded and cushioned. “I dunno, I just can with certain people. I’d ask someone about it, but all of my people who might have known anything are dead now.”

Stunned into muteness, Alex swallowed hard at the reminder. As if that thought ever left his mind since Caulfield. Feeling helpless and out of his element was getting to be the default state around Michael. 

“You wanna head back up while I move this to the Airstream? Maybe open the trailer door for me.”

He took the offer as the out that it was intended to be with relief. The close confines of the bunker could not help but remind him of Michael’s quest to leave the planet, and him. He would not miss it. As Alex wrapped his hand on the ladder rung to leave, and he paused realizing his apology was only half-tendered, “I shouldn’t have said that. About not having friends.”

“’S true though. I've got siblings, and I've got people I've slept with, but not friends.” Michael swept his hat over his curls, and watched with a glint of concern as Alex lifted his prosthetic foot to settle it firmly on the rung. “You okay getting out of this hole on your own or do you need a hand?”

He considered arguing that they were friends, but honestly, Alex was not sure if they were, at least at the moment. Explaining to him that Michael was his ex-everything had not exactly gone well in the past with Michael’s ability to misunderstand him at every turn.

All Alex could do was show him, through his actions, that he was not alone and hope that he was understood.

“I could use the assist, actually.” He forced himself to accept it as an olive branch. He could put aside another traverse through the emotional landmines of what they were to each other for another day and let the secure enclosing wrap of Michael’s power surround him as he pulled himself up the ladder to the surface. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Note: I hate the love triangle. I hate what it has done to friendship. I hate it all... but we are social creatures, messy and complicated, capable of love and pain, forgiveness and redemption. No one can cross the same river twice, but you can still love the river.
> 
> I'm on tumblr if you're so inclined. [lambourngb at tumblr](https://lambourngb.tumblr.com/)
> 
> The lovely Maura made a gif set from Maria's words. It's gorgeous!  
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> For reblogs [ Michael, he's always there](https://darlingnotso.tumblr.com/post/632371081900163072)


	6. Chapter 6

Alex watched as Michael skillfully backed the Airstream up to the side of the cabin with the outside water hose bib and electrical box. The sight of the silver gleam and well-worn metal peeking over the rough-hewn porch railing sparked a certain enjoyment inside him, seeing something so intrinsically linked to Michael in his mind, nestled close to his home. 

“I’ve got something to show you,” he offered, as Michael unhooked the trailer hitch, and strode confidently around to the truck cab to park next to Alex’s Explorer. The recent awkwardness of their fight was still palatable between them, but Alex pressed on bravely. “Might be a bit of a squeeze, but see if you think it will work.”

Excitedly, he started to push the heavy coffee table out of the way, before a second strong pair of hands took over, easily lifting it with him and revealing the trap door. 

“What the hell is that?”

“Kyle and I discovered it a few months ago, I guess bunker building is a popular pastime in Roswell.” Alex held the door open as a set of collapsible stairs cascaded down with the release of the latch. “Jim built it as some sort of detox room. Used to be just a ladder straight down, but with my leg, I needed stairs since I had my own ideas about how to use the space.”

Michael leaned past him, looking at the floor to ceiling set up of electronics and heavy data cables that snaked from the far corner of the room and disappeared into an open duct in the ceiling. The main focus was a command center of six screens, with an impressive executive chair facing them. 

“There’s room for your drafting table, and the ship console. Once I have the security system wired in, you’ll be able to work securely on it without worrying about someone seeing anything you don’t want them to,” Alex continued enthusiastically filling the silence between them with quick words. “Jim built this without a permit, nothing recorded on paper about it anywhere. I did all the wiring myself.” 

Michael listened to the explanation distractedly, turning around to see the full layout of the room. “This is where you unraveled the massive government conspiracy on aliens?”

“Mostly. I have a secured terminal on base where I was able to run down some of my dad’s movements. However, this is where I reconstructed cell phone data and narrowed down where his center of operations was.” Alex nodded to where a stack of hard drives were resting on the desk. “With what happened to Kyle and my dad, I consider the bunker at Walker AFB compromised but with a few tweaks, we should be able to keep your artifacts safe here.”

“A bit late for that. I mean, what's the point? My people are dead, my planet is a war-torn ruin, but I get to keep useless junk safe.” Michael had his back to Alex, missing the full body flinch. “Whatever. I can move my shit in here. It will at least make more room in the Airstream for me.”

His eagerness swiftly doused, he closed his mouth and let Michael climb the stairs back into the main room of the cabin. All he could do was stand out of the way while the various pieces of the ship and test tubes with milky white substance drifted past him directed by invisible hands. The beautiful multicolor glass alien control panel floated to rest on the newly installed drafting table, and gleamed under the lights with the obvious incomplete gap. 

There was, hidden in the air register vent, a piece of the incomplete console still waiting to be handed over to its rightful owner. 

One day, when they were not carelessly tripping over each other’s emotional triggers, it would be the right time to present it to Michael. Perhaps it would be a day when he was not immediately terrified Michael would leave angry. He had already held onto it past an acceptable amount of time.

Numbly Alex took a seat in front of his set up and hooked up the first drive from Caulfield to his hard drive. He pushed down the ever present feelings of inadequacy and started the process of searching for the proper decryption algorithm. The focus of his attention on mission-critical intel allowed the previous stress of his talk with Maria and Michael to fade into the background.

He was deep into comparing the data against the Four Square cipher and the evidence that it might be a Lorenzen cipher at play, before he realized the unseen movers had finished filling the bunker with the alien wreckage. It was quiet, but there was a distinct smell of food in the air. Shaking out the numbness of sitting too long that seeped into his left leg, he followed his nose to the kitchen and stopped.

Michael was leaning against the countertop, his well-worn flannel shirt drawn against his shoulders and his hip bones diligently holding up a pair of soft-looking sweatpants. He was stirring a pot, glancing at the can label for guidance. At the sound of Alex’s cumbersome prosthetic foot, he turned with an unsure smile. 

“Sorry for taking over the kitchen, breakfast wore off a while ago.”

Alex rubbed his hands over his computer screen-sore eyes, “Right, no. Don’t apologize. Do whatever you want here, okay?”

“You had some canned tomato and chili beans, so um, consider this a peace offering for earlier.” Michael turned back to the stove top, “We’re going to be in each other’s pockets in this charade, driving each other crazy probably. I haven’t lived with anyone since the last go-around at the group home when I was sixteen, just to warn you.”

“It’s fine. Base housing cured me of needing personal space. When you live with fifty of your least favorite friends, after sharing a house with three brothers, you realize you can share with anyone.”

Michael glanced briefly over at the mention of his military service before returning to his tending to the chili, his shoulders tight with unease. “Good to know.”

The short clipped words warned Alex that he had taken another conversational misstep. “Um, I’m pretty set in my routines, it helps with my adaptive strategies with- right, anyway it might be annoying to you. If there is something I should do differently, and I am able to, tell me. My only request is that you don’t leave any tripping hazards around.” Alex tapped his metal shin in explanation, “I still have to step carefully with this thing.”

“You don’t have to do anything different, Alex.” Michael twisted his lips in a mimicry of a smile, “this is your home, and I’m mostly house-broken, I promise. You’ve gone out of your way here, so I don’t want to be a dick to you on top of that.”

“Me neither.” Alex watched the hypnotic stirring of his graceful long fingers on the wooden spoon for a long moment. “I’m sorry. I'm trying to be better too, and not go for your throat when I feel too-” he paused, before finishing weakly, “When I feel. It’s an old habit that I’m trying to break.”

Michael dipped his head down, tension leaking from his stance at the offered truce, and looked over his shoulder, a little shy. “Hey maybe this time we can finish a fight for once? Forced cohabitation could have its perks.”

“I’d rather not fight with you at all, Guerin.” Alex smiled weakly, watching a curl dip over his eye. Seeing Michael in his kitchen, dressed in soft sweats and bare feet, challenged every ounce of restraint. Though he could admit that Michael in broken-in jeans, gaudy belt buckles and tight white t-shirts also challenged his self-control. 

Here in his home, he ached, wanting to step closer and mold himself against that strong looking back. The blind-sided rush of desire urged him to tuck the errant curl away, and press his mouth against the warm hollow of his neck. Except that would not be friendly of him to act on now.

Michael met his gaze for a moment, and his lips parted knowingly, reading what Alex was sure was the transparent need on his face. “We got two modes, Alex, we fight or we fuck. Guess it’s long past time to find the third option.”

***

The cautious truce held through dinner and clean up, a comfortable silence was shared while Alex worked on his laptop to continue his cursory searches of the Chaves County law enforcement database and Michael flipped through a notebook of equations. He was relieved that instead of making use of the parked Airstream, Michael disappeared down the hall to the spare bedroom to sleep.

Something inside of Alex relaxed, knowing that he was close and still under the same roof. Outside of brief furloughs during his duty rotations, the span of almost two weeks they had spent together in a sex-fueled haze after Michael reclaimed his job at Sanders's was the longest consecutive streak of nights they had shared.

He couldn’t help but wonder when was the last time Michael had the basics of four solid walls and a firm foundation under his feet. The Airstream was cozy and stamped with Michael’s personality but it couldn’t help but advertise a rootless way of life, and the bunker under it, was a shrine to a broken alien spaceship that once held Michael’s family. 

Before the crash. Before Alex’s family held them in prison and then murdered them. 

Abruptly his eyes opened as he laid on his back staring up at the dark ceiling. His normal dose of meds usually pulled him under the curtain of heavy lidded sleep and kept him there for hours. Alex closed his eyes, chasing the disconnected feeling of his medication before something tugged at his attention again.

He strained his senses, listening for a sign of the disturbance. 

The cabin was still, with just the usual clicks of the forced heat furnace expanding the ducts against the metal registers. 

He warred with himself for a moment, before he realized he needed to make a sweep of the cabin before he could shake the hyper-vigilance from his limbs and attempt to fall back asleep. He pulled on a soft robe, securely tying it around his waist before reaching for his crutches. Hopefully Michael would sleep through the soft sounds his movements made against the hardwood floors, as a clean stump liner, sock and attached prosthetic leg would dispel his hope that this was a brief awakening.

As quietly as he could manage, he made a circuit of the cabin’s points of entry. All the windows were securely locked and bolted against the early December cold, and the front door remained undisturbed with a recently installed deadbolt slotted into place. He twitched the curtains to peer outside, inky black shadows from the surrounding trees shading the view while the motion-sensitive perimeter outside lights remained quiescently off. 

He turned back toward the bedroom, and jumped at the shadowed figure before him. 

“Sorry!” Michael whispered, reaching out to keep Alex from losing his balance. “I heard you up, and thought something was wrong.”

He pressed his hand against his racing heartbeat, “No, it’s fine. Just. Yeah, I should have warned you. Sometimes I have to check the doors in the middle of the night.”

“That part of the PTSD? From Iraq?” The dark kept Alex from seeing Michael’s expression thankfully, but he could not help but hear the concern in his voice.

The old knot of shame and embarrassment fought in his throat. With effort, he swallowed down the emotion. “I’ve got PTSD for sure, but not from Iraq. My brain got fucked up a long time ago. Go back to bed, Guerin. It’s late.”

“That where you’re heading?”

Alex sighed at the skeptical tone. “Eventually. It takes a bit to turn off the five alarm alert from my brain.”

“I can’t sleep much either, it’s why I heard you up. So if you want company...?”

Aware of the effort Michael was extending, along with his transparent desire for someone else to be near, he accepted with an encouraging smile. “Grab me a beer from the fridge then. I’ll get the blankets for the couch.” 

He moved over to the shelf to pull down a pair of well-worn quilts that he had inherited with the cabin, and moved to open the shielded doors to the fireplace to stir the glowing coals back to life. Alex balanced precariously on his crutch to toss a fresh log on the hot embers before turning to fall backward on the couch seat. 

Michael took a close seat next to him, pressing a cold bottle of beer into his hand and pulled the quilt over him. In the dim firelight Alex noticed he was not wearing anything other than a pair of boxer briefs. It was not surprising with his hotter than human body temperature that Michael eschewed all signs of pajamas.

Even in the cool winter air, Alex pressed the chilled bottle against his cheek to chase the flush of desire away. 

“So your meds don’t help with this?” 

“They help. This is better than it is without them.” The glow of the fire painted a soft shadow to Michael’s face, making it easier for Alex to answer. “I can usually get five hours of sleep. Just nothing works 100 percent of the time.”

Michael took a long sip from his beer, his throat working in unconscious seduction. “Seems worse to me, Alex. A couple of years ago, you could stay the night with me and sleep through it. You only managed that once since.”

Alex took his own swallow from the bottle. “Losing a leg sucks. I guess in some ways that made it worse for me. It's hard to feel safe, like I can get away when I can't run. Putting on my leg is a real production but I can't sleep with it on either.” His hand rubbed at the tight muscles on his right thigh and then pulled the blanket over his stump, tucking it out of sight.

“I wish you had never signed up and gone to war. I don’t care about those battles you wanted to win,” Michael murmured roughly, and reached out to pull the quilt away, stroking his fingers on the thick wrap of surgical scars that marked the end of Alex’s leg. “But I am thankful you came home.”

Very few people had touched him there outside of medical professionals. Those numbered on both hands between his original surgeons, to his physical therapist, and the array of prosthetists he saw as he was fitted with increasingly better performing artificial limbs. Michael’s hotter than normal touch on a place even he loathed to handle, thoroughly undid Alex. 

“I had to go, I didn’t have a choice but it makes it a little easier to live with if I remind myself of how strong it made me.”

“You were strong before. In this two cow town you were so fucking fierce with your makeup and piercings, Jesus, you didn’t need a fucking uniform to be strong, Alex. It seems to me to be a poor trade for the PTSD.”

He covered Michael’s hand, stilling the soothing massage on his stump. “The Air Force didn’t give me PTSD. I signed up with it already. It just gave me a good job and a purpose to focus on, the structure that I needed to piece myself together after growing up with my dad.” Alex squeezed his hand tenderly in reassurance. “I check doors and windows because I grew up in a house where I was never, ever safe, not for a minute.”

“It was that bad, with your dad?”

Alex laughed in disbelief. “After what he did to you, you have to ask?”

Michael pulled away from Alex’s grasp, and wrapped both hands on his beer bottle in reaction. His shoulders hunched in under the blanket, defensively. “I just thought… I mean, he didn’t like that you were gay and you brought me there. I figured he snapped when he saw me, that I set him off on you-”

“Michael, you didn’t set him off. You stopped him from hurting me, but you didn’t cause it. You just got in the way.” Alex set his beer down, and placed his arm around him. “Have we never talked about this?”

He felt a gentle shake of negation under his arm. 

“Oh... well he was never really nice to me growing up. Verbal stuff mainly, like about my face being too pretty, that people thought he had a daughter when my hair got long. I got a bit older, I think I was about 13 when he backhanded me. I can’t even remember what he told me I did wrong at the time.” Alex picked up his bottle again with his free hand and took another swallow of beer, savoring the bright hops taste in his mouth to wash away the memory of his father’s scotch-tinged breath screaming at him over perceived faults. “He just said I was defective, and he was going to fix me. It wasn't until later I realized he meant my sexuality. It wasn’t every day, but it was often enough that he was beating me for something I couldn’t change. From 13 until the day I left for Basic, I lived in fear of him.”

“Alex,” Michael murmured, distraught, his voice thick and his eyes bright with unshed tears. 

“Actually, that’s not true. I think even with him in that fucking pod, I'm still afraid of him. I think maybe I always will be.”

Michael took a couple of deep breaths to attempt to calm himself after the bottle and simple clay coasters start to rattle on the coffee table. “I should have killed him that night. In the shed.” 

“No, I should have, after he hurt you. I just froze though. I was pretty worthless that night. Like a terrified rabbit.” Alex rubbed his hand along Michael’s shoulder, and let himself guide his hand upward to touch the soft curls in the intimate dark atmosphere between them. Michael turned easily into his touch, seeking out affection with transparent greed. “I honestly don’t remember the next couple of days. It must have been bad though, the only other time I’ve disassociated like that was after I lost my leg.”

“That was the night Noah used Izzy to kill those girls. My best day ever and my worst night ever, it’s the same fucking day.”

“Mine too.” He trailed his hand down Michael’s shoulder to end on the smooth knuckles on his left hand. Carefully, Alex hoarded each touch that he was allowed,giving meager comfort to Michael while relishing in his own self-indulgence. “I'm glad you don’t have to carry that any more on your body. I hope you don’t carry it in your heart, cause it wasn’t your fault.”

“I feel dumb that I didn’t know how bad it was.”

“You mean you feel like I do when I think about you being in the system? I never asked, and I should have. Except I didn’t want to talk about my home, so I never asked about yours, if you even had one.”

“Nah, no home really. Just addresses that CYFD sent a check that I never saw a penny of, which doesn’t count. For about a minute I thought I had- anyway, it didn’t last. I guess you’re right we never did talk that much.” Michael shifted closer against him, and finished off his beer. The charged atmosphere stretched between them, the clean scent of built up ozone that heralded lightning in a storm. “I was too busy sucking you off all the time, to use my mouth for anything else.”

There it was. The turn from emotional to physical intimacy that marked Michael’s discomfort with a subject. 

It was just one of the many reasons they had never talked over the years, that Alex now realized was also probably a defense mechanism around the alien secret. It was difficult to focus on anything when his brain was sex-drunk around Michael.

Alex groaned softly at the reminder and forced his attention away from how warm he was and how little Michael had on under the quilt. He felt reckless from the close proximity and non-existent boundaries between them. It was a true war of effort to remind himself that there were lines he could not cross. 

Lines that Michael himself had laid down between them. 

“I want to be your friend, Guerin, and talk to you about everything. Just not about your mouth, okay?”

“I guess I still do it for you?” He traced his tongue against his lower lip teasingly, lightening the mood between them.

“Guerin.”

“Sorry.” The tension dissipated between them after the soft warning. After a long moment, Michael pulled away, keeping the quilt tucked around him to hide the state of undress. “Did I stir up too many bad ghosts talking about ancient history, or do you think you can try to sleep again?”

Alex glanced up at him, watching the warm flickers of the firelight chase the well-loved planes of Michael’s face. Restless ghosts or not, it was a sight he would never tire of seeing. “The beer helped. I should try to sleep, I have a feeling that Torres will be calling me bright and early tomorrow with his update.”

“How much is his assistance costing you?” Michael asked, while he gathered the two discarded beer bottles.

“Nothing so far. He owed me a pretty hefty favor.” Alex leveled himself up off the couch and refolded his quilt with careful precision. Michael knelt next to him to begin the process of moving the fire-logs apart to douse the fire, closing the shielded doors to secure it. 

Alex accepted the offered crutches, securing them under his arms and stalled on the edge of the room. The post midnight confessional peace between them was something he was reluctant to end, even if he knew it couldn’t last forever. “I'm glad we could talk a bit. I hope you can sleep some.”

Michael smiled tentatively, his movements lingering with the heavy step of hesitance at the doorway of the spare bedroom. “Me too.” 

* * * 

Alex half expected to dream about his father after having that frank discussion of his childhood with Michael, but instead he dropped straight into a dreamless sleep and only awoke when the distinct smell of fresh brewed coffee tickled his nose. Perhaps his therapist was not so far off about the value of talking and shedding a light on the dark memories. 

It helped that he wanted Michael to know him, all of him, as if knowledge could move them past the arrested development of hooking up and burying themselves in the physical. With enough time and honesty, perhaps Michael would change his mind about how doomed they were to be together. He shoved the ember of hope at that thought deep down.

Hope was for a far off day when there was no threat against Michael and Isobel from the Project.

Dressed for the day, Alex pocketed the newly dubbed phone he had finished last night and followed his nose to the kitchen where the sight of Michael in his kitchen cooking breakfast was sure never to get old.

“I've got some eggs ready for you.” Michael motioned to a plate on the counter and turned with an uncertain expression. “I tried to time it with your shower going off, but I might have cooked them a bit too long-”

“Thank you.” Alex cut off the apology and smiled, hoping to relax the unsettled lines on Michael’s face. “My morning routine is longer than the average person’s. Depends on if I cheat on my PT for my leg or not.”

Michael kept his hand on the dish, “I’ll make you a new batch if you need to do that.”

“I’m fine, really. I did my PT like a good boy.” 

After a moment of awkward staring, Michael nodded in acceptance and floated the two plates to the table. The silence broke with the everyday clink of utensils and cups, as they both relaxed and settled to dine opposite ends of the small table. Alex took a bite of the eggs, chewing appreciatively under Michael’s gaze.

He fished out the phone to slide over to Michael, “I finished this last night, so make sure you shut yours off and use this one instead. The location data syncs up to my movements and keeps you in the clear. It’s the same number, and I copied over your texts and call log.” He took a sip of coffee, with a crooked smile, “I didn’t read them, but I do recommend keeping anything incriminating off the sim card and on something like Signal. End to end encryption is the important part.”

“No dick pics unless I use an app, got it.” 

Alex made a face. “You’ve sent dick pics?”

Michael smirked, his eyes mischievously bright over the lip of his mug. “Your buddy Torres said not to answer incriminating questions without him present.”

“Well, that is good legal advice.” He glanced down at his phone, and started to scroll through the notifications. The security cameras were due to be delivered soon. The predicted call from Torres was absent, but he did have a text to let him know there were no new inquiries into Michael by Ross and Rollins. The last message was from Kyle, requesting a meet-up of everyone.

The clock was ticking on reviving Max to keep the eye of suspicion off of him, not to mention Alex was still trying to figure out the next move with Rosa Ortecho back from the dead. He had dearly missed her in the last ten years; there hadn’t been many irreverent badass teenagers to hang with during his goth rebellion days. He bit his lower lip in thought, and opened a group text to Kyle and Liz, suggesting a strategy meeting for all involved.

“So about him. I got the impression that Torres knew who I was... to you.”

Alex blinked up from his phone, still caught in heavy thoughts about Rosa and her return to life. “He does. He knows you’re important to me.”

Michael scrapped his plate clean of his eggs, and shrugged casually. “How many people did you tell about our past? Like, what do people know for real instead of what you told the cops?”

“I told people about you in terms of me, once I was allowed to tell. Even with it being legal, it still wasn’t something most of my command structure was comfortable in asking me. I kept it simple, I left behind someone special, I fell in love as a dumb kid, stuff like that.”

“I gathered Maria knows all about the Emporium, cause I am Museum Guy?” Michael commented, capitalizing the words in his voice with a knowing smile. 

“I told Maria about that afternoon, um, before the shed. I never used your name. And Liz was MIA after Rosa, I didn't reconnect with her until this year. She has been so wrapped up with your brother, you never came up in conversation.” Alex took a deep breath, pushing down the old spike of wariness that came with discussing the past. “No one knows the real extent of what my dad did to me, or to you.”

Michael shook his head in turn, “Not no one exactly. Max knows about your dad. I mean, he knew about us since high school, apparently, but he got the story of the shed out of me. Isobel well, she's been in my head so there's not much I could keep from her, so she knows.” He leaned against the kitchen chair, balancing gracefully on two chair legs with an ease Alex envied. “I was just shocked that someone from the Air Force was so well-informed about... me.”

“Torres knows a bit about my dad, but that was related to the favor he owes me.” Alex sighed, sipping from his coffee cup. “I got his younger brother out of an Article 134 hearing.” He caught the blank expression from Michael. “This was back during Don’t Ask, Don’t Tell. His brother turned in a flight leader for sexually harassing a female airman. The backlash was a trumped-up charge of conduct unbecoming. I vouched for the brother, and said it was me the report was about. Of course my dad had to come bail me out. Afterward he beat the shit out of me for jeopardizing my enlistment.”

“Jesus, Alex.”

“At first I didn’t really care about staying in, since all I wanted at that time was to make music. Except being a legacy Air Force member started to mean something to me, I was starting to see that I could protect people for once.” His thoughts turned inward as he recalled all the times as a kid that he wasn’t able to protect anyone, not himself, not Michael. 

“Dad was thrilled that I told him I was innocent too, that I hadn’t since... you. Mark walked in on us shouting at each other about you.”

Michael looked thoughtful and looked down at their empty breakfast plates. Alex had really not thought to discuss his feelings about the service and why he stayed in after a somewhat forced enlistment before with Michael. He wondered if half of the arguments they had had over the ten years were tied to the fact he never sabotaged himself and fled the Air Force during the years when he could have under DADT. 

Vividly he remembered the volatile leave he spent in 2014, when it became common knowledge around Roswell that he had renewed his contract for more time in uniform. Did Michael think it was some sort of prison term to be served out, and when it became clear that it was not, did he feel rejected?

“So your friend knew you were gay but didn’t turn you in because you saved his brother.”

“To be fair, it wasn’t illegal to be gay, I just couldn’t be a practicing homosexual.” Alex watched as a twitch of amusement fluttered over Michael’s mouth. “Don’t say it, I know the joke. So yeah, Mark found out a bit about our star-crossed high school romance then and didn’t care. He kinda read between the lines when I told him about my reasons for signing up, so I guess it didn’t surprise him when I called, that you were still in my life.”

“Mmm, not sure it says great things about you or me that he expected a call for legal services.” 

Alex hid a smile, before standing to start clearing the table. “He thought I would end up killing my dad with some sort of staged accident. I can’t say the thought hasn’t crossed my mind.”

“Say the word,” Michael replied, soberly. 

“We’ve got enough to deal with now; the pod prison works fine.” Alex picked up his keys, and gestured with his phone. “What we need to do next is figure out how to save Max, and help Isobel stay out of trouble too. Eventually we will need to reveal Noah is dead so Isobel can move on, not to mention avoiding another high priority missing persons case with Max, if he stays in that pod for any extended amount of time.”

He left the issue of a military investigation of his father being AWOL off the list of priorities. 

When his father ‘volunteered’ to lead a training assignment in Niger, it was a 12-week commitment. Alex was unsure of how his father had arranged the trip back to the States, with a temporary leave or an early completion of the mission. Temporary leave meant the clock was ticking on someone noticing the absence, whereas an early completion of the mission meant there was a period of downtime before the next assignment. 

Setting up perimeter surveillance was the only thing he could do on that front until the MPs showed in Roswell.

“Right, no big deal,” Michael grumbled, picking up his hat by the door. “Can’t forget Roswell’s most infamous dead girl is up and around too. I miss the days when booze and bail money was all I worried about.”

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> https://lambourngb.tumblr.com/ where I cry about Malex, love Alex and Michael a whole lot.


	7. Chapter 7

Alex was entirely unsurprised to find they were the last to arrive at Max’s house nestled at the base of the mesa. Kyle’s BMW, Isobel’s silver Infiniti, and Liz’s gray 4Runner were lined up neatly next to Max’s Jeep Wrangler that was conspicuously parked next to the house.

“Dammit,” Alex muttered, as Michael swung the Chevy into a space of dirt and scattered weeds. “Does no one think at all around here?”

Michael tilted his head, curiously. “Not as much as you do. What’s up?”

“Max’s car parked in front of his house is kinda suspicious. It needs to be out of sight, in a garage, or something, especially if we can’t find a way to bring him back soon,” he complained, swinging out of the truck to land heavily on his left leg. “No one will buy an out-of-town trip if his Jeep is here.”

Alex scanned the surroundings of the house curiously. It was helpful that Max had no visible neighbors; his sprawling ranch style home sat at the end of a long gravel drive. Sagebrush and mesquite grew tall along the drive, with the occasional splash of late blooming red desert paintbrush flowers poking through the cold stunted brush. 

It was a beautifully isolated home that Max had settled in with an exterior boasting of wealth obtained outside of a deputy’s salary. He felt that surge of irritation that Michael made his home in a battered second hand Airstream, while both siblings lived a comfortable middle class lifestyle. Was that almost transient lifestyle the legacy of not being adopted? 

Just outside the well manicured suburbs and far from the interchangeably styled base housing, the dwellings were sparse, the space given instead to lone tall power-line pylons dotting the horizon. He turned, and spotted the utility pole that his father had used to set up surveillance on Max Evans.

Somewhere secreted on the plain cable transformer was a wireless camera pointed at the comings and goings. He made a note of it to disconnect before they left. 

“That Jeep is a piece of shit, but Max is very attached to it,” Michael agreed, before pulling open the heavy ornate front door behind the screen door. “We’re out of practice in cover-ups, I guess.”

“You did a shitty job the first go around, pendejo.”

Alex edged around Michael’s frozen stance, following the acidic voice of Rosa Ortecho to her unimpressed expression as she sat on Max’s countertop. Time had stood still for her to the point that he found himself reaching up to touch his own face, feeling for his septum piercing and fake ear gauge. 

Rosa lifted her eyebrow, looking from Michael to Alex challenging. “What? You never talked to a dead girl before?”

“Not one as hot as you, chica.” Alex let out a small laugh, and pressed forward to hug her. “I can’t believe it!”

Rosa slipped down from the countertop, throwing her weight into his arms carelessly. His prosthesis protested fiercely at the sudden landing, causing him to let out a soft whimper of pain as his vision went white in agony. “Alex!”

Michael threw a hand out, his powers lifting Rosa up and off of Alex to hold her harmlessly a few inches off the ground. “What the fuck is wrong with you-”

“Guerin, let her go,” he ordered, blinking past the sudden burn of discomfort, before smiling apologetically to Rosa’s horrified face as the unseen force lowered her considerately to the ground. “I’ve only got one foot now, Rosa. Lost the other overseas, so I need a little warning for anything fancy like that.”

Rosa switched from shock to escalating fury at his words. “You joined up? What the fuck, Alex.” 

Before Alex could muster any words in his own defense, Kyle and Isobel appeared from the other room. In the meantime Kyle looked better rested than the stressed out, fast talking state he had been in after his brush with being shot, while Isobel had dropped all pretense at cultivating a color-coordinated style. The lines of stress on her face seemed deeper in a pair of oversized jeans and a Chaves County Sheriff sweatshirt.

“It’s a long story, Rosa.” He turned his head to glance behind Isobel, and asked the obvious question, “Where’s Liz?”

Isobel sighed, and gestured toward the closed bedroom door. “She’s in Max’s room.”

“She told me not to take it personally, but she hasn’t really stopped crying. Since.” Rosa rubbed at her arms restlessly and picked at her clearly borrowed clothes from Liz. There was not exactly a rule book for resurrection, but Rosa looked distinctly uncomfortable in her skin. Alex had to wonder if the old demons from before were just as loud and present after death as they were in life. “If I could cry too, I would.”

Kyle glanced over at Alex, and then over to Michael, with a furrowed brow. “It’s the alien hand-print thing. Max linked them together psychically before he...”

“Blew out his brain circuits resurrecting a dead girl?” Michael finished, ignoring any attempt at tact. 

“That,” Kyle nodded, latching onto the coarse description. “Liz said it is like she has fifty-pound weight on her chest, since the link is going into nothingness. Evidently being near Max’s things helps.”

Isobel made a wide berth around Rosa to sidle up next to Michael, taking a hold of his wrapped left hand with a tender touch, before raising her hand up to trace a fingertip over Michael’s carotid artery. “You seem okay, no hand-print yet either...”

“Why wouldn't he be okay?” Alex interjected, concerned by the surprise in her voice.

Michael swallowed hard, and backed a step out of Isobel’s reach. “Healing leaves a link. The bigger the wound, the deeper the bond. My life is a steaming pile of shit but it was like that before Max did what he did. I’m fine.”

“Huh.” Rosa walked over to the fractured french doors leading out to the back patio. “In between crying, Liz and I cleaned up a ton of blood and glass yesterday. Still missing the doors though. Was that you, Cowboy?”

Alex was acutely reminded of that blood soaked shirt that he still didn’t have an explanation from Michael about. The whole damn reason he had blocked the federal agents from entering the Airstream. He had been so focused on assuming it had been from a struggle with Noah, he had believed Michael in the face of no visible wound. 

“The blood was yours on the shirt.” He shook his head in disbelief. 

“Yeah, I kinda bled out over there,” Michael pointed to a place on the terracotta tile between the closed bedroom door and the battered leather couch. The grout showed a few discolorations. “Noah got me with a lucky shot. I was trying to keep him alive to answer some questions, but you can guess how well that worked out. He’s fucking dead, and I’ve got no answers.”

“Boo-hoo, dumbass. He killed me, and sounds like he killed you too, but it didn’t stick,” Rosa observed, jumping back up on the counter to kick her heels against the wall. “Breakfast Club Brian had the right idea in killing that dick.”

Kyle hid a smile at the insult to Max and cleared his throat. “Speaking of Max, I had breakfast with my mother this morning. She mentioned trying to track him down during his leave. She wouldn’t discuss an open case with me, but I get the feeling she is curious about the timing of his trip and Noah disappearing.”

“If the Sheriff is looking at Max, does that mean I’m in the clear?”

“The Feds have the case, and since we can’t produce Max, more than likely they’ll think you did something to both Max and Noah,” Alex advised Michael distractedly and pulled out his phone to open up the remote access login for Chaves County. He thumbed through the search queries he had set up regarding Michael and started work on adding new ones regarding Max Evans.

“Just tell them we were fucking each other’s brains out at my place like you did for Noah,” Michael drawled, stalking over to examine the broken doors closely. The shards of glass were gone, but the glaring open area invited the cold December air into the home chilling it to mausoleum temperatures.

His back was to the rest of the room, so he missed Kyle stumbling over nothing at his crude pronouncement and the shit-stirring gleam in Rosa’s eyes. The only one who was unsurprised was Isobel who had helped cement the alibi in the mind-space in the first place.

“Excuse me, what?” Kyle questioned, and tugged at Alex’s arm, disrupting the deliberately fixed focus on his phone. “You said you were going to get Guerin out of jail, you neglected to tell me that detail. Since when?”

“You guys are together? You got him, Alex?” Rosa broke in, talking over Kyle. “I had my doubts about your master plan of staring at him from across the room in high school, but damn, boy. Ten years, locked down. Nothing but respect here.”

Alex took a deep breath, and avoided Michael’s curious look as he turned to see what the others meant. “Kyle, if your mom asks, confirm for her that Guerin and I have been together on and off since high school. Obviously we are ‘on’ for all intents and purposes since I came home. Rosa, if the cops ask you anything, we have bigger problems than that, but it is just an alibi I provided.”

“As interesting as all this is, I haven’t heard anything about how we handle Max being in a pod if the Sheriff starts asking questions.” Isobel sat down heavily on the couch and studied her ragged manicure with an air of unconcern. She tilted her head meaningfully backward toward the closed bedroom door. “I need our local mad scientist on her A game getting him back, like pronto.”

He grabbed onto the subject change with a shade of desperation that he hoped was well hidden. “I see we have three main problems. One, we need to cover Max’s absence well enough that no one looks for him but not so permanently that he won’t have trouble getting his job back when we save him. So a mental hospital is out, and probably with it a substance abuse center as well, because no one will reissue his gun license after that. At least they shouldn’t,” Alex paused, lifting a second finger in example, “two, we need to produce Noah’s body in such a way his death gets ruled accidental misadventure, unless you want to wait seven years to be free of him legally, Isobel?” 

Isobel laughed, “Um no thanks, next.”

“I’m guessing I’m third in your trifecta of disasters?” Rosa offered, glancing back toward the closed door. “I was dead for ten years, and so far this resurrection thing has sucked. I just want to see Papi and go home.”

Kyle looked sympathetic, his eyes moving from Guerin’s purposeful measuring of the window to Isobel’s unconcerned sprawl on the couch. “Your death was very public, Rosa, I don’t know if that’s an option.”

“Sure it is,” Isobel interjected blandly. “We tell Arturo Ortecho the truth and let her go back home.”

“Isobel!” Michael protested, wheeling around to face her.

“What? Max brought her back, let’s not let his sacrifice be without a reason. She should at least get a happy ending out of this mess,” she argued in turn.

Rosa piped up, “Murder Barbie is right.”

“She didn’t actually kill anyone-”

“What about the rest of the town? Do you want to be dissected?” Michael shot over Kyle’s head to Isobel, and then turned to face Rosa, “Or worse, you? I'm pretty sure those federal dicks would love to get their hands on a revived dead girl for study. Pretty sure that wastes Max’s efforts.” 

Alex held up his hand trying to calm tempers, and stepped closer to Michael’s braced stance. “Hey, no one is getting dissected. I can create an iron clad fake background for her, but we do need to consider telling Arturo. No assumed name will fool family.”

“Maria, too,” Rosa commented evenly, watching the heated exchanges with a stone faced expression. “Papi and Maria, if they don’t know about aliens, well they should. The rest of this town can burn for all I care.”

“Arturo, Maria, who else? Why not Mama Valenti too? We should just take out an ad in the Roswell Daily and be done with it,” Michael replied sarcastically. 

“We’re not saying everyone, but those aren’t bad suggestions.” Kyle leaned against the island, nodding toward Rosa in agreement. “And Guerin, if you can’t trust Arturo Ortecho, then who can you trust in this world?” 

“And if you can’t trust Maria Deluca, then maybe you shouldn’t be dating her,” Isobel stated, her eyebrow raised, daring him to argue.

“You and Maria? Wait, I thought you and Alex were together?” Rosa questioned, her eyes locked on the pained wince on Alex. “Maria and your boy, Alex? That doesn’t sound like her, going for this bland white boy. What the hell happened to you people?”

Michael ignored her, and snorted in disgust. “Fine, we can tell Arturo, on account of the fact that Rosa didn’t ask to be murdered or brought back, so we owe her but that is it. We do not tell Deluca.”

“What’s wrong with Maria?”

Liz’s tear-rough voice silenced the room. She was dressed in a wrinkled long white men’s shirt, her bare legs underneath it. Her normally smooth black hair was gathered into a sloppy bun on the top of her head, and her eyes were red from spent tears. Outside of her disheveled appearance, everyone quieted at her question. “She’s our best friend, Guerin, and I thought you liked her too. You want everyone here to lie to her? To keep lying to her?”

“Liz, it’s not that simple,” Michael objected weakly. 

Alex tucked his phone into his pocket, and walked over to Liz cautiously. “We don’t have to decide this now. Just telling your dad is enough for now, so Rosa can see him. Let's just take it one problem at a time, okay? Focus on Max.”

She brought her hand up to press against her heart. “It's hard not to focus on Max, feeling like this. I don’t know how I'm going to fix him.”

“The same way you fixed me, Liz, with your brain and apparently Michael’s blood.”

“It was my blood _and_ my brain, Izzy.”

“So what do we tell my mom?” Kyle cut in between the siblings, before Michael could wind himself up too much more. “Max is on a sabbatical because his brother-in-law ended up being a creep?”

“Tell her I broke up with Max the night of the gala. She’s never liked me, Kyle, so she’ll believe I broke his heart. Maybe he's on a road trip finally writing his tragic novel or he went to see Jenna Cameron 'to get his groove back', I don't know...” Liz wiped at her eyes, before taking a seat next to Isobel. “In the meantime, if I tell my dad about aliens, I need to have one with me, otherwise he’s going to call our priest and schedule an exorcism.” She picked up Isobel’s hand to squeeze. 

“So do we tell Papi she used her murder hands on me, or is it still okay to let him think I got high and killed a couple of white girls?”

Isobel winced, chewing her lower lip nervously, clinging to Liz’s hand. “No, I’ll tell him the truth. About Noah and what I did. Like Kyle said, if I can’t trust Arturo, then we are doomed.”

“Great,” Michael pushed himself away from the wall, headed toward the door. “I'm going to see if I can fix these doors and make this place look less like a smash and grab crime scene. Oh, and move Max’s Jeep, ‘cause Alex said it’s a billboard for him being here, which one of you geniuses should have realized.” The heavy wooden front door, followed by the screen door slapped shut behind him. 

Kyle stared at the shut door with concern. “Glad to know he is still a ray of sunshine.”

“It’s been a rough couple of days for Guerin.”

Rosa laughed caustically, “Sure, and my life has been a cake walk.” 

Alex tucked his phone away, and smiled weakly. “He just lost his mom and Max. I can’t fix any of that for him right now, but you, if you give me a couple of days, and I can get you back on the grid. You might not be Rosa Ortecho again to the state of New Mexico, but at least your dad and sister can know the truth.”

Liz pushed herself upright, dragging Isobel to her feet. “Speaking of, if you don’t mind doing the alien reveal, Iz, I would love to sleep in my own bed again. Being here without Max makes it both better and worse.” She paused in front of Alex, and hugged him. “Thank you for handling her documents.”

Alex clung to Liz, and then turned and wrapped his arms around Rosa, amazed all over again that she was here and alive. As much as Max had complicated things recently, he could not deny how good it felt to have someone he had lost back in his life.

It filled him with the type of hope he had long discarded as outgrown sentiment.

“I’ll text you my suggestions for names.” 

“No texting, Liz, use an app it’s safer,” Alex scolded, and then turned to Isobel, “Anything new about the investigation that I should know?”

“There’s still a full sized sedan parked out by neighbors. The local neighborhood watch Mrs Johnson has been dropping by the car with thermoses of coffee and cookies, so they aren’t flying under the radar.” Isobel pressed her hand against her chest. “I’m still the ‘shocked wife’ reeling from the news my hubby has been cheating on me. It's playing well with the bridge club.”

“Well I’ll see what we can do about making you the grieving widow without getting anyone arrested.” Alex stepped back from the entrance, and caught sight of Michael carrying heavy-duty plywood sheets around the back of the patio with just his mind. At least there were no neighbors, but he definitely needed to remove his father’s camera. “Arrested or worse.”

The floors were cleaned thoroughly of blood by Liz and Rosa, but there were still signs of a struggle in the living room. A scuff mark on the floor, a few books knocked loose from the surrounding shelves, and a chair sporting unmistakable metal rubs from a pair of handcuffs. The French doors were in clear need of replacement, as the boarded up exterior was a transparent clue that something had happened here.

He could not believe that Michael had bled out on the floor beneath his feet. Thank god for having an alien healer so close by. He was stopped cold by the thought he could have been waiting uselessly in the trailer while Michael died a few miles away unknowingly. 

Kyle to his credit waited until they were alone to strike. Liz and Rosa departed to find Arturo, with Isobel following close behind for the reunification of father and daughter. Their cars were nearly clear of the driveway, when he erupted, interrupting Alex’s methodical straightening of Max’s belongings, “Dude! What is going on with you and Guerin?”

Alex shot a glance over to where Michael was cutting the boards to size in a busted glass frame with a hand-held saw. He caught Kyle’s arm to tug him deeper into the house, “Nothing, okay? I just said we were together, that’s it.” 

“That is not just it, otherwise you wouldn’t care what he overheard. Talk to me, dude.”

“Just like I said before, if your mom asks-”

“Alex. I know you're like trained against this, but I will make you talk. Don’t make me get out the barbiturates.”

“What, you want me to gossip with you about boys like we’re friends?”

Not surprisingly, Kyle took the sleight about friendship much better than Michael had. He didn’t budge, staring Alex down stubbornly with an amused expression. “I think we’re way past that, Alex, when your dad tried to kill me, and we nearly got blown up together in an alien Gitmo. So yes, talk to me like your friend, which I am.”

Alex licked his lower lip nervously, and lowered his voice. “All right. I have to pretend to be in a committed relationship with my ex because my family has focused law enforcement on him, and he needs someone to protect him from ending up in the aforementioned alien Gitmo. And I can do that easily, because he is still it for me. The only problem is he doesn’t want to be with me, he wants to be with Maria, my best friend. Are you happy now?”

He ducked his head to hide from what he was sure a pitying expression on Kyle’s face. Saying it out loud still was not any easier than admitting it to himself.

“Wow, you are deeply fucked,” Kyle replied, wonderingly.

“Thanks, I was entirely unaware of that.”

“So you have to fake being in love with Guerin while actually being in love with him.”

“I didn’t say I was-”

Kyle covered Alex’s mouth with his hand, quelling the protest. “Stop, you are not fooling me. I don’t even think you’re fooling him.”

He wrenched the hand off his mouth, “You did hear the part about wanting someone else?”

“So how long are you in unrequited hell? Official statement to the police is pretty serious. You can’t break up tomorrow with that out there.”

“It might be a while, I don’t know.” Alex glanced over again at Michael, watching his hands skillfully set and start nails to fix the new boards in place. He sharply looked away, his pulse thudding quickly at the sight of a hammer. “We talked to Maria yesterday. They uh, are putting their relationship on hold until this is over.”

“Bet that was fun for all involved.” Kyle shook his head at the situation. “My mom says it can take months for a case to go cold. I can call in anonymous tips if you want, stretch this out as long as you want.”

“Why? To torture me? Didn’t you just say we were friends?”

“For a military genius, you are missing a prime opportunity to press your advantage. Look, this can be a built-in way to win him back. You get to be the hero at the same time you can show him how good it would be to be together with you. It’s like a win-win, here. I like Maria, but I’m totally team Alex here.” 

Alex smiled a little. Kyle had truly come a long way from shoving him into a locker, or stealing his clothes at gym class, to now conspiring to help him win a guy over. It was sweet but still a little disturbing. “There is so much wrong with that. One, we are still learning how to have a conversation without fighting and two, I'm not comfortable manipulating his emotions. I’ve jerked him around in the past.”

“Ugh, too much information.”

He shoved Kyle at the joke. “Seriously. He’s been through enough, without playing those types of games.”

“Just remember, I'm here if you need me. Shoulder to cry on, or just get a beer while I tell you what an utter moron you are for even being into ‘Rebel Without a Clue.’” Kyle clapped him on the shoulder, before glancing at his watch. “I've got pre-op rounds soon. Keep me updated, I'll be your new best friend if you need it.”

* * * 

“I think we should let Maria in about aliens.”

Michael brushed the sawdust off his jeans, and looked up with an annoyed glare as he gathered his discarded tools from Max’s patio. “So this truce of ours is just gonna last a day or so then?” He picked up the hammer to flip into his hand distractedly.

Hastily Alex turned away to avoid looking at the tool directly. “Can you not-”

“Not what? Oh, fuck, sorry-”

“It’s fine. Just.” Alex cleared his throat, relaxing as Michael tucked the hammer into the box out of sight. “So, I have yet to hear a good reason for why you don’t want to tell her.” He pushed the repaired doors closed, the plywood caught the eye but it was better than busted out glass and jagged wooden panes. 

“I’m saying I don’t want to and that should be good enough,” Michael replied mulishly, and smoothing his curls under his hat. “It’s my safety we’re talking about.”

Alex trailed behind him toward Max’s garage, where the Jeep was now parked safely inside as Michael stored the tool box, saw, and replaced the paper bag of nails in the organized chaos of the housing supply shelving unit amid discarded cans of paint and gardening supplies.

“You can’t seriously consider Maria a threat to your safety. If you do, then... why- um-”

“How can I like her without wanting to tell her?” Michael finished. He pulled down the garage door, and clicked the lock shut with his mind. “You and I did not do too bad together when you didn’t know about me. It’s not a prerequisite for wanting to be with someone.”

Alex coughed in disbelief, ignoring the reference to their past. “Actually I do think honesty is a prerequisite in a relationship. I think it's one of the most important.”

Michael placed his hands against Alex’s car, leaning against the driver’s side door. He let out a low breath before steeling himself in reply. “You ever wonder why I spent so much time at the Wild Pony?”

He blinked at the apparent subject change. “I figured you'd been banned everywhere else. Plus it’s a locals bar.”

“Not even close. I like any bar that sells to me, I do all right at Saturn’s Rings and 3rd Bar From The Sun and have fucked my share of tourists there. No, I went to the Wild Pony for two reasons, and one of them was she has a strict no-alien policy. Maria hates aliens.” Michael gestured with his fingers, “Gimme your keys, you’ve been on that leg too long.”

“Wait, what? That's why you don’t want to tell her?” Alex dropped the keys into his palm, and wandered over to the other side of the SUV to take the reprieve that was offered. 

“Yep. My track record on telling people I want to sleep with about being an extraterrestrial sucks.” Michael shrugged, and started the car. 

“Wait, hold on a second. I was fine with it, Guerin.”

He lifted his eyebrow meanly, “Were you? I don’t remember you banging down my door the minute you found out. In fact, as I recall, you immediately left as soon as I showed up once you did know. Then when I asked you if this was really how it was going to end, and you said-”

“Okay, I know what I said, but that wasn’t what I meant. That had nothing to do with you being an alien really.” Alex rubbed his jaw, feeling for the words again. “My dad had targeted you when we were kids, and I just found out he was still after you. I was trying to protect you from him, until I had the situation under control.”

“Uh huh. You’re big on control. Always needing to call the shots, everything on your terms.” Michael’s phone beeped from the cup holder interrupting them. 

Alex flushed at the needled remark. “Maybe, but it's what has kept me alive since I was a kid. I never had any control then. But I am sorry.” He turned his attention to the passing scenery as they headed back to the cabin. “I didn’t realize you thought that I cared about that.”

Michael was quiet again, as his phone beeped again. He picked up the phone and glanced at the screen before replacing it as he drove. Alex caught sight of Maria’s name just as the screen went dark. “So if it wasn’t the alien thing that made you avoid me... It was really your dad?”

“Yeah.”

They continued down the road in silence, before Michael stirred. “I really hate him.”

Alex smiled weakly, turning at the quiet olive branch, “Me too.” He bit his lower lip and made his own soft offer in return, “Sorry if I was controlling back then. When we were together, I know I made a lot of decisions for you, unilaterally. About telling people.”

“What’s with the past tense there, buddy? We’re boyfriends again in the eyes of the law thanks to one of your unilateral decisions,” Michael taunted lightly. 

“Right.” 

A quiet tension filled the cab of the car as the sun slipped closer to the horizon in the late winter sky. Michael shifted in the seat, and let out a low sigh. “You don’t have to apologize for things you did back then to feel safe. Not to me.” He glanced over at Alex, smiling ruefully. “That side of you did drive me crazy sometimes, still does in some ways, but it’s not a bad thing. One of us needed to have a clear head cause you make me feel totally out of control. My entropy, you know?” Michael gestured with long fingers between them, with one hand balancing on the steering wheel. “Izzy says I’m a lot on a good day, so I get it, needing to take time away.”

“Well I never saw you like that. As too much.” He watched Michael smile in response, letting his own smile grow. As the scenery passed by and they reached the county highway. The signs directing them toward town and the Wild Pony and the other sign pointing the way to the mountains, brought Michael’s earlier comment to mind. “What was the other reason?”

“Hmm?” 

“You said you liked Maria’s bar for two reasons, no-alien talk was one, what was the other?”

Michael shifted in the seat, a hint of red creeping up from his collar. “You. I knew Maria kept up with you. Sit at that bar long enough, and you’ll hear Maria talk about her genius best friend serving on the front lines. It’s how I checked on if you were okay.”

There was a wave of mixed emotion swirling inside Alex at that comment. This was what made it so hard for him. On one hand, he couldn’t help but enjoy hearing that Michael had thought about him in between the intermittent visits to Roswell and sought out information on his own. The other feeling was discomfort, knowing that even though Michael might not truly understand the dynamics of friendship, he was aware after all of the strong connection Alex had to Maria, and had slept with her regardless in Texas.

Michael was even intending on pursuing a relationship with her eventually. Were aliens immune to the awkwardness between friends with a lover in common? Maybe if Maria and Alex had unluckily shared the same man for a one-night stand, he could envision trading cheeky observations with her over sexual performance or annoying habits. Michael was always going to be different. More to him.

The amount of time it would take to find his way to comfort in the situation was still undefined in Alex’s mind, and was starting to resemble an asymptote.

As Alex was learning, his feelings toward Maria in the wake of Texas, and more importantly, Michael’s feelings toward Maria, were emotional mines that he had no desire to navigate. With effort, he pushed his turmoil down to concentrate on what mattered, and picked up the original thread of the conversation. “Maria- is a good friend. At risk of restarting this fight, I really think you should consider telling her the truth. If you’re serious about her, and for Rosa’s sake.”

“At the risk of letting you restart this fight, I’ll think about it,” Michael replied, before his expression turned a little devilish. “Can we talk about your master plan you had about me in high school that Rosa mentioned? Like how detailed was it?” 

Alex groaned in both mortified pain and profuse relief at the subject change. He turned his face away to hide a renewed blush. Rosa Ortecho hadn’t lost any of her ability to embarrass and tease him, even after ten years in a pod. “That counts as a self-incriminating question and I don’t have a lawyer here. Let’s talk about dinner instead.”

Michael chuckled, and let it go. The mood in the truck was lighter between them. Maybe they were finally learning how to talk to one another.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for leaving a comment, hitting kudos, subscribing, or just plain ole lurking- I'm so appreciative of the response.


	8. Chapter 8

The cabin felt empty the next morning after Michael had left for work. It was truly remarkable, even with the tense exchanges and careful offerings of space between them, that Alex felt bereft alone. A few days together, Michael was already sunk deep under his skin.

Except who could say that Michael had ever left, even ten years farther down the road from the painful beginning in his father’s shed. 

He smiled into his coffee mug, seeing one of Michael’s flannel shirts hanging off the chair in the kitchen. Most of his limited belongings were still in the Airstream, but it was only a matter of time before scattered and chaotic influx of thrift store finds filled the military-neat cabin.

Liz had sent a pair of texts to them both last night, confirming that the Arturo had taken the news in a shocked but ultimately accepting way, with no requests for church involvement after all. She mentioned that Kyle had been on scene, just in case of another heart event, which to be fair was a valid risk. They had closed the Crashdown early and stayed up into the wee hours of the morning with Isobel, graciously explaining to Arturo, and even to an extent, Rosa herself, the events from both 2008 and now. 

Rosa in turn, spent the evening moving between violated rage at what Noah had done and cynical contempt over how the town had responded to her death. She was stuck, according to Liz, on the fact Jim Valenti hadn’t done more in his cover up of the Roswell murders to shield her presence in the crash. 

No word was mentioned of Rosa’s parentage or how well she was accepting Kyle Valenti as her half brother, but Alex figured with the alien reveal accomplished there was still time for the more mundane matters of family secrets and marital affairs. Liz was more concerned over finding a new laboratory space and tackling the issue of saving Max, than arbitrating a sibling dispute.

Most of the morning and afternoon slipped away from Alex as he picked up the delivered security equipment from the shipping locker and started the task of first outfitting the turquoise mine, and then the exterior of the cabin with motion triggers and electronic surveillance. It was a full day of hiking and climbing over the various terrain to place cameras and then test footage with his phone. 

The end of the day found him on his couch pant-less with his prosthetic leg off, a bag of ice securely pressed to his hip, and two of the heavy duty painkillers chased down with a cold beer. The warm and familiar floating feeling was just starting to mute the screaming nerves in his leg when the classic throaty growl of the Chevy’s engine registered.

“Honey, I’m home,” Michael mocked, swinging open the cabin door with his black hat in hand. The day’s work at the junkyard had left the previously pristine white shirt with streaks of heavy black grease and what looked like a splash of antifreeze on the shirttail. 

“Hi,” Alex breathed, trying to keep from smiling at the greeting. Somewhere under the haze of his painkillers he knew Michael was just joking. “You’re home early.”

“It’s seven o’clock, Alex.” Michael froze in his steps past the couch toward the spare room and narrowed his gaze on Alex. “What happened to you? Are you high?”

“A little.” He giggled, and picked up his phone to wave at Michael’s face. “Installed the new cameras, and might have overdone it on my leg.”

“If you had waited, I could have helped with you that. Telekinetic alien, remember?”

“Couldn’t wait. I'm pretty sure they've noticed my dad’s missing, so I needed the security system up and ready now.” Alex shifted the bag of ice against his hip, and pulled the creeping edge of his shirt down further to cover the top of his boxer briefs. “Sorry, I meant to be upright by now and have dinner started for you. Definitely meant to have my pants back on before now.”

“Uh huh,” Michael looked at him skeptically, and motioned him back down. “Let me shower off the garage dirt and I’ll find us food. Just stay there, you look too stoned to be trusted with the stove anyway.”

Alex closed his mouth on the feeble protest, because that was hard to argue. He was not looking forward to smoothing a clean liner over his sore swollen stump and reattaching his prosthesis to stand in the kitchen. It was far too appealing to stay flat on the couch, and let the painkillers drown out the agony. At the moment, he was enjoying the firm hit of euphoria, likely amplified by the beer and the result of skipping lunch in favor of wiring the cave and hillside. 

The sounds of Michael moving about the cabin, the thunk of discarded boots on the wooden floors, the soft close of a door and the start of the shower all made for a soothing background noise that Alex drifted in peacefully. He shut his eyes for a moment, only to find himself awake to the strong scent of food again.

Michael sat a plate on the coffee table in front of him. Dinner was a pair of hot dogs slathered with relish and mustard, with baked beans spilling around it. He placed a can of soda next to it, sweeping away the now-warm beer bottle from his reach. “You awake enough to eat?”

“Yeah, I'm starved.” Alex rubbed the drug fatigue from his face, and reached toward his hip for the melting bag of ice only to encounter a fresh pack with his fingertips. Michael had thoughtfully changed out the ice and prepared him dinner, all after working a full day at Sanders's. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make you do all this after working.”

Michael cracked open a bottle of beer, and settled back in the chair with an amused look. His own plate of food balanced on his thighs. The shower’s effects were present, the damp curls mussed and in intact locks around his face, and his grease-marked clothes exchanged for a simple sweatpants and t-shirt. “You make a terrible wife, Alex, not having a hot meal ready at the end of the day for your hard-working man.”

“Haven’t had a lot of practice.” Alex bit into the hot dog, noting to himself that Michael prepared it just the way he liked it with no ketchup to be seen.

“No? You never played house like this before with a boyfriend? I mean, once you could legally.”

“Can’t play house if you've never had a boyfriend.” 

Michael paused, holding his beer to his lips in surprise. “What, never?”

It was flattering that Michael appeared so shocked by the idea. Alex chewed with deliberate consideration. “Depends, are you counting yourself?”

“I wasn’t.”

“Then never.” Alex wiped his mouth clean of mustard and shrugged. “There were guys eventually, even during DADT, I wasn’t a monk, but it was just sex. No boyfriends, no dating.” The words unsettled Michael, as he picked and stirred the food on his plate with his fork idly. Alex could not tell what he was thinking, but the painkillers blunted all the edges of caution and made him bold for once, “What about you?”

“Me? I am far from a monk.” Michael glanced up, through a curl trailing into his eye line. “Never been someone’s boyfriend either.”

“No, I meant, was I your only guy?”

Michael’s gaze sharpened alertly at the question. “What do you think?”

He dropped his cleared plate back on the table, and shifted on his back to extend his right limb on the couch. The bag of ice resettled over his right hip, and he briefly weighed retrieving his cotton lounge pants for another layer between them.

The question had been the one he had wondered about off and on over the long stretches of time away from Roswell. Was Michael alone or was he with another person at that moment while Alex was miserably alone in the barracks? The nights where he really wanted to punish himself he pictured Michael with other men, braver men, who delighted in holding Michael in public and showed him off to their friends and supportive family. Alex was very well practiced in constructing all manner of realities where Michael was better served by an out partner, even though he knew how unlikely it was in a small-minded town like Roswell. It was much more likely that he had been with women during those years.

Maria had pretty much confirmed that for him when she had spoken about his promiscuous past.

The haze of his painkiller made him forget what a bad idea it was to think about Michael in the context of sex, especially now in close but hands-off confines. “I wasn’t the only one,” he decided. “My first trip back here in ‘09, you were way too good with your mouth, and you didn’t learn that trick with your tongue from me. I might have been the first, but I wasn’t the only.”

“Thought you said we couldn’t talk about my mouth,” Michael teased, his lips crooked against the mouth of the beer bottle. 

“I definitely shouldn’t.” Alex watched his tongue tease the lip of the bottle, intently before turning his gaze away. “Fuck, this was a bad idea.”

“I dunno, you being this stoned is intriguing. I'm seeing all new sides of you, Alex.” He gestured toward his state of undress languidly. “Well, not all new.”

They were teetering on that edge again of dissolving into the physical. The painkiller was thankfully keeping Alex from getting hard under the too-appreciative gaze, even as it clouded the reasons for holding back. Fuck. The well traveled path of falling into bed in order to avoid talking wasn’t just Michael’s bad habit.

He reined in his wandering thoughts to focus back on Michael's words, “Wait. You didn’t answer my question. Was I right?” 

Michael dropped his teasing smile, and grew serious. “I'll tell you if you really want to know. However, you've got to be sure.”

Alarm filled Alex, pushing through the reckless haze from the drugs. “Was it not, I mean, was it your idea to — If money was tight-” 

“I didn’t sell my ass, Alex, relax. Not that type of bad.” Michael huffed out a soft laugh, disbelievingly. “The night you left for Basic,” he paused and gathered himself, “After I was released from lock up, I followed you and your dad’s car to Albuquerque.” Alex stared wide-eyed in response, the memory of his anger regarding Michael's stupid arrest had faded with perspective. They had both been dumb kids in an impossible situation, but the thought of Michael in the rearview following them shocked Alex into revising the history between them. He had thought Michael's petty vandalism of Kyle's car had been the answer to all of his questions about whether Michael cared about him. The surprise was visble to Michael, who smiled crookedly in self-deprecation. “Yeah, nuts, right? I thought you might change your mind about enlisting, and when you didn’t, I spent the next three nights fucking and sucking my way through the gay bars there. So no prostitution, just my special kind of self-destructive fucking up.”

“Jesus.”

“Talk about being stupid, I'm lucky I’m an alien. I wasn’t exactly careful, if you know what I mean.” Michael stood, breaking the atmosphere between them and started to gather their dishes to take to the kitchen. “How’s the pain? Do you need more ice?”

“I’m okay,” Alex answered, still blinking at the information. It wasn't as if he hadn't thought about throwing himself from his dad's car during that trip, only the knowledge that his dad would have tracked him down and kill him had kept his hand off the door handle. Michael had been close and he had never realized.

“Don’t get too flattered there, I also made the trip there to talk to UNM about deferring my scholarship for a while.” Michael collapsed back into his chair with a fresh beer in hand. “The answer to that was 'no'. It was a really uplifting weekend.” 

“And that was you letting off steam?”

“Some. I also wanted to prove to myself that you weren’t special.” He took a long pull on the bottle. “Mathematically determined, I like sex, and empirically proven, I like it best with someone I care about.” Michael tipped his beer toward Alex, “What about you? You ever solve any sexual proofs?”

Alex hesitated, before replying softly, “Just that I am gay. The level of wasted I need to get to be okay with a naked woman also matches the level where other issues arise. Or don’t.” His face warmed in embarrassment, and continued under Michael’s gentle look of understanding. “I guess that was my self-destructive stint. Alcohol is not a great treatment for PTSD but it was what I had to work with after what happened with my dad.”

Too many times early on, Alex had had to numb the deep certainty that someone would come upon him in an intimate moment and hurt him when his guard was down. Booze helped bring his guard down the first few attempts, before he discarded that coping technique as too harmful. Feeling out of control was a short step from feeling free from fear, and too often he tumbled past that in his attempts to be present in the moment. 

The tighter he kept his guard, the better he felt about his chances at protecting someone in the worst case scenario, and the easier it was to shed his clothes with a partner. At least until he lost his leg, but that was a whole new tangle of issues that like before, Michael was a special exception.

The amount of work ahead of him to find a sense of ease with a new sexual partner was exhausting just to think about. Eventually Alex knew he would have to try intimacy with someone other than Michael, even though every cell in his body rejected the idea. It was that or learn to enjoy solitude with the periodic bouts of feeling so touch-starved that doctor appointments started to appeal. 

Between that thought and the serotonin drop that accompanied his painkillers, he felt a wave of depression fall over him.

“Anyway, I should try to sleep, before the pills wear off completely.” Alex pushed himself upright, accepting the crutches from Michael. “I’ll try to be a better wife tomorrow, have your dinner ready on time,” he offered, attempting to lighten the mood between them.

Michael picked up the melted ice bag from the couch before Alex could grab it to return to the freezer, and started cleaning up, highly amused. “Don’t worry your pretty little head about it, sweet cheeks. Just make sure the shopping and laundry are done.”

***

Having Michael cooking and helping with household chores was sweetly domestic, but it barely prepared him for the experience of shopping for food together. They had a minor skirmish, when Alex suspected Michael’s sudden desire to accompany him to the store and drive into town might have been tied to seeing Alex laid out and stoned from pain a few days prior. Michael won the argument by merely pointing out that Alex did not know his preferred brands on anything and vice versa.

Watching Michael comparing labels and prices to find the best price point brought to mind some suspicions that Alex had had over his finances and lean way of life. It was hard to forget the time when he was homeless and living out of his truck. Leaving snack bars and bags of chips accidentally in the shed was as far as Alex could go as a teen of limited means.

Things were different now that he was an adult with a well paying job. He had banked almost all of his special pay bonuses during his overseas assignments with no spouse or dependent to think of at home which added up to a tidy sum. 

He dropped a long package of steaks into the cart silently, but made no impassioned arguments against store-brand over name-brand goods to Michael. The real fight he suspected would be at the check out line in paying. 

“How do you feel about beef tacos, instead of chicken?” Alex asked absently, in the refrigerated aisle. “They won’t beat the Crashdown, but we can have chili with the leftovers.”

It took every ounce of his composure not to startle as he felt a warm hand slide into the back-pocket of his jeans as Michael suddenly pressed close to his shoulder to peer at the beef display. “Whatever sounds good to you, darlin’.” He pressed a soft kiss behind Alex’s ear, and replied lowly, “Agent Rollins is here. Just behind us in the frozen dinner aisle.”

When he had thought about places where they might be required to pretend to be together, Alex had always figured it would be the police station, or if someone approached the cabin to ask another round of questions. He had left the grocery store off as a possibility. His pulse increased from the heightened beat that accompanied him in any public place, into the rapid beat that came with Michael’s hands on him. 

Hyper aware of the presence of both the general public milling around the store along with a federal agent, Alex took a slow deep breath and held it for a count of four before releasing it softly. He could do this.

Goosebumps prickled his skin from Michael’s lips at his ear. Even in the midst of an anxiety spike, something in him relished and soaked in the touch, however orchestrated, as he leaned back against Michael’s chest. “Hmm. Okay. Beef it is. Are we missing anything on the list?”

He twisted in Michael’s warm grasp to tuck the package of ground beef into the cart, and then caught Michael’s fingers into a gentle hold, to pull him close in an embrace. Alex took advantage of the hold to gaze over his shoulder with his peripheral vision to search out the federal agent.

It was just as Michael said, Agent Rollins was holding a shopping basket piled with frozen dinners but very clearly watching them. 

Alex smiled easily, and leaned in to kiss Michael with a quick press of his lips. He murmured lowly, “I want to talk to him, see if he lets anything slip. You game?”

Michael’s clear golden gaze was on Alex’s mouth, before he glanced up slowly to reply. “I’ll follow your lead.”

He tucked himself close to Michael as he turned the cart toward the frozen entrée aisle, letting the enjoyment of their contact filter over his face. It was annoyingly easy just as Kyle observed, that he had to fake being in love with someone he already loved.

“Captain Manes, Mr. Guerin,“ Agent Rollins greeted primly as they approached him. The agent was off-duty, dressed in beige slacks, a long sleeved shirt, and a ball cap hiding his receding hairline. There was the expected bulge next to his winter coat, where his gun was casually tucked out of sight. Alex’s own weapon was secured in the small of his back, less obvious, even in an open carry state like New Mexico. “Refurbishing your pantry too, I take it?” He glanced into Alex’s cart with a raised eyebrow at the amount of food stacked. 

As it turned out, his sparse bachelor stocking of minimal provisions deeply offended Michael on some level, and he was taking advantage of the open season food budget to change that. 

“Alex and I really work up an appetite together, so nothing lasts long,” Michael replied with a straight face, before turning to Alex, to touch his jaw sweetly, “Speaking of darlin’, we’re nearly out of condoms. I’ll be right back...”

Alex accepted the touch, and bit into his cheek to control his amusement at the brief grimace of disgust that ghosted Rollins face. He watched Michael disappear to the next aisle, before tipping his eyes down at the cart Rollins was holding with white-knuckles. “You must be missing home, cause that’s a lot of microwave dinners, Agent Rollins.”

“You gotta be prepared for the long haul with these types of investigations. Either we find the vic in 48 hours, or we find their body later. Bracken’s been missing for what, ten days now since he had that altercation with your boyfriend?” Rollins met his judgmental glance toward his groceries evenly.

“That witness was wrong about seeing Michael. I'm sure you read both his and my statements.” Alex made another note to follow up on the background of his former neighbor that had placed Michael with Noah, just to see how connected and far-reaching the Project went. “Though the altercation that was described could have happened. Noah is an attorney, he no doubt made some enemies.”

“Sure, that’s certainly an avenue of the investigation we’re exploring,” Rollins replied agreeably. “Read up a lot the last few days on everyone’s background, especially about you, Captain Manes. What wasn’t classified. Decorated officer with the Air Force, lots of medals related to combat experience. A real hero.”

“Just a desk jockey now,” Alex tapped his metal leg. “Those days are past me.”

“Hometown boy made good, is what I've heard about you. Lots about you following in your father’s footsteps. He’s assigned to Roswell, correct?”

“All of my family has heeded the call to service. My father was in Roswell for a while, before he took on a training detail to Niger, but we’re not very close.”

“Hmm,” he commented thoughtfully. “Fathers and sons, that can be complicated. ‘Course I guess you being a homosexual probably doesn’t invite close relationships out here. It’s not like San Francisco or even Sante Fe for that matter.”

Alex tensed his jaw, but kept his voice even. “I like small towns, but I don’t care for gossip.”

“That is something I’ve learned about both you and your Mr. Guerin. Doesn’t seem like you two have a lot of friends. Can’t seem to find anyone to comment on your relationship and back up this alibi you’ve provided.” Rollins twisted his mouth into a sneer. “Is that the price of your lifestyle?”

Homophobia was something that Alex was unfortunately well-practiced in dealing with, especially the type that skirted the edge of civility. When it came to his years dealing with military bureaucracy, he would run into someone who was a second slow in a handshake after the scuttlebutt had reached them. No one cared what happened in the bedroom when you were sharing a Humvee or eating the same terrible food in a tent city in the desert. Misery was the great unifier. It was always the paper-pushers and intel boot-lickers who cared.

“Family doesn’t always mean blood. If you need someone for confirmation, the sheriff’s son, Dr. Valenti is a friend of ours.” Alex glanced around the store hurriedly, wondering where Michael had disappeared to. “My love life appears like an odd thing to lie about, though.”

“I’ve been investigating missing persons cases for over twenty years, Manes, and the one thing I’ve learned is people lie about all sorts of things, from who they are fucking, to where they spend their money. I always figure it out in the end.” 

“He’s not lying about me, and it's 'from whom they are fucking',” Michael replied, coming up behind them to catch the last words. He tossed the box of condoms into the shopping cart. “Sorry I disappeared darlin’, I couldn’t find the magnums, had to ask a store clerk for help.” Michael turned to face the agent, smiling broadly, “We done trading small talk or do we need a lawyer? ‘Cause I wanna break into that box before my afternoon shift at work.”

Alex sighed, and slipped his arm around Michael, tugging back and solidly against him. “It’s okay, Michael. He’s just trying to do his job and find Noah.”

“And I am not stoppin’ him from doing that. I like Noah, but I can’t say I knew every side of him. The fact he cheated on Isobel is so, like fully alien to me. I've known her forever, she’s practically my sister. Perfect life, and looks like he fucked it up.” Michael tipped his head back to meet Alex’s eyes. “When you find love, you hold onto it with both hands and you don’t let it get thrown away.”

He swallowed hard at the intensity of Michael’s voice, feeling every word in his heart. It was an effort not to look at his mouth, before Alex realized if this was part of the charade then he absolutely could and more. He closed the small gap between them, and kissed Michael softly, his hands moving up to cup the back of his head sweetly. Feeling his forehead press against Michael, loosened something deep inside of Alex.

“I’ll uh… Let you two get back to your shopping. I’m sure we’ll be talking again, Mr. Guerin.” Agent Rollins brushed past them, as Alex continued to hold onto Michael, threading his fingers through his curls.

Michael kept them pressed together for a moment, before popping an eye open to scan around them. He pulled back, exhaling in relief. The tension drained from his shoulders now that they were alone in the frozen food section. “That guy is a douche, but kissing definitely makes him run for his life.”

Alex kept his eyes shut for a long inhale, filling his lungs with much-needed air. He reached out with one hand to brace it against the chilled glass to regain his equilibrium. Feeling the cold start to chase up his fingertips brought him back to the present, as he pressed down the ever-present knowledge that his feelings were not going anywhere when it comes to Michael.

“Yep. We should head home, you've got work later.” His weak smile garnered a concerned look from Michael as he pushed the cart toward the checkout register. 

*** 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the short update! Originally this was supposed to include the next scene at the cabin, but my brain decided it wanted to rewrite it this weekend and add some completely new material. Wednesday will be a longer update. Thank you all for continuing to be so kind.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for the last minute beta Tas.
> 
> Any errors you find are mine, because I'm apparently incapable of leaving this doc alone!

Alex was thankful he let Michael drive into town, since it allowed him to bring up his remote access login on his phone from the passenger seat, to check into the most recent postings in the investigation. “Hmm… Noah’s car was towed to the impound lot from the UFO Emporium. That helps sell the idea that he might have disappeared the night of the Gala. You didn’t touch his car, right?”

Michael glanced over to him, “Nah, but Liz was in it that night. Stabbed him with the serum when he attempted to leave with Isobel. You think that might be an issue?”

“Depends on if her fingerprints are in a federal database. She has a decent connection to Isobel through her relationship with Max to fall back on.” Alex flipped through the recent information request, and relaxed. “They ran his credit cards, no activity since the morning of the gala. Oh, hello, they flagged one of his purchases as suspicious. A hand-held gas difuser.”

“Motherfucker.” 

“That means something to you?”

Michael nodded in response grimly, “The night of the gala, he tried to get Max and I out of the way. He clobbered Max over the head, but he got me with this pollen infused gas which he planted in my jacket. Rendered me absolutely powerless and locked in my bunker.”

“Fagonia thebaica. Only grows in the Libyan desert,” Alex replied absorbed by his phone as he scrolled through the evidence chain of custody updates. 

The Explorer swerved a little, causing Alex to look up from his phone. Michael’s grip on the steering wheel was suddenly tight, white stress lines evident on his knuckles. “You know about that?”

Alex kept his eyes on Michael’s face, unsure if he wanted to get deep into the details of Project Shepherd while Michael was driving. “I found reference to it, in the files my dad had. They tried to conceal it, called it Flore Cauleum and Rostella, neither of which exist. I tracked down some shipping manifests that originated from a Libyan freighter and there was a picture included, connecting the dots was simple after that.”

He kept the details dry and hopefully uninteresting on purpose. When the time was right, he could tell Michael about how it was ground up and placed in the meals at Caulfield, that one of the side effects was found to be hair loss. That it was very lucky that the dosing schedule was in the evening when the guard coverage was sparse, otherwise Michael would have never had that brief moment with his mother. 

Although some days Alex debated on if that acknowledgment through the glass was a blessing, or a curse. Perhaps he would have been successful convincing Michael to leave instead of following his mother’s dying wish, or possibly they both would have perished in front of the cell arguing about saving an unknown, unnamed alien.

At some point, once the drives from Caulfield were decoded, he would have to review the older security logs. 

“This recent knowledge you acquired?” 

“Um. I didn’t connect it to aliens until recently but it was something I found out when I started looking into my dad. I thought it was some type of cover for weapons, honestly.” 

Michael nodded thoughtfully, loosening his grip on the wheel. “It kinda is, just not against humans. Liz and I were thinking about coming up with an antidote, at least before Max got himself brain-dead.”

A loud alert filled the truck emanating from Alex’s phone, cutting off his next question about Liz and her lab studies. “Fuck,” he muttered, “slow down, that was the perimeter alert for the cabin. We’ve got company.”

“Not the mailman I take it?” 

“Hmm, no, I have a PO Box. This is someone either lost or knows where I live.” Alex cautiously backed out of the programs related to the Sheriff’s office, and opened up his security feed. Gradually his pulse slowed as he recognized the silver Infiniti parked next to Michael’s truck. Camera three confirmed the identity for him. “Remind me, were we expecting Isobel?”

Michael frowned, “She’s there?”

“Yes, she’s currently seated on the porch, exploding pieces of the stocked firewood with her brain.” He rubbed at his eyes, and sighed deeply. Maybe he needed to give a lecture to everyone about the pervasive amount of digital surveillance and the new reality of zero privacy. God help any aliens who crash-land into mainland China. 

“I didn’t know she could do that. She mentioned moving a picture frame.” Michael smiled proudly, his whole body leaning forward with eagerness at the thought. “I guess that dick Noah was right about not utilizing all of our potential powers.”

“Well while you’re congratulating her, make sure she is being careful about cameras.” Alex shook his head again, enjoying the light expression on Michael. Such a nerd to be so excited to test and explore a new idea or ability. It really was a staggering shame that the university had not been in the cards for him after high school.

Perhaps that could be an idea he could explore for Michael in the future, after the investigation had moved on and it was safe. Of course, by then, the first move Michael had expressed in making was toward seeing Maria. 

Alex pushed that thought down, the reflex was getting easier for him, but then again, suppressing his desires was a well-exercised instinct over the years. He stayed quiet as Michael increased their speed toward the cabin, and tried to enjoy the moment. 

Michael pulled off the main highway to the rough gravel road, and glanced sideways at Alex as the phone chimed again in response. “It goes off that early? We’re still a mile away from your driveway.”

“Like I said, people are either lost, or want to see me, for better or worse.”

“Guess there’s no sneaking up on you,” Michael teased, as he guided the Explorer to the almost overgrown driveway entrance and turned toward the cabin. Alex shrugged in response, not commenting on how no good has ever come of surprises in his life. 

As soon as Michael had the SUV parked and was out, still half-smiling, Isobel was on her feet from her posed sprawl against their rough-hewn steps. Alex had no idea how long the unkempt look had lasted with Isobel, but all elements of her earlier deviation in sloppy attire were gone. No longer was she covered in her brother’s cast offs, but back in the familiar well-tailored armor of Isobel Evans, event planner.

“Where the hell have you been?” she shot at Michael, stepping up into his space.

Michael stopped in surprise, and Alex frowned, half out of the SUV, at the angry question. “Um, the grocery store?”

“Is everything okay, Isobel?” Alex asked, pulling out the bags of food from the back of the SUV. “Did something happen?”

“Nothing has happened, that’s the whole problem. It's been over a week. Liz says you haven’t texted her back, Michael, about to meet up about Max.”

He climbed the stairs, and paused outside the front door, waiting patiently with a look toward Michael, who immediately unlocked and swung it open with his telekinesis in response. Alex smiled softly in thanks, and started into the cabin, leaving the door open for them to follow. Isobel watched the interplay closely with a deepening frown. “Of course, I'm starting to get why you've been MIA on this.”

Alex set the bags down on the counter, and headed back out, catching Michael’s exasperated reply faintly, “What’s that supposed to mean?”

It looked like Isobel had a few things to get off her chest, so Alex met Michael’s path toward the front door, and gathered the rest of the bags of food from his hands. Michael relinquished them, and gave him a quick smile of gratitude.

“That! That right there!”

“What? What are you talking about?”

“You’re enjoying this!” Isobel exclaimed, her voice echoing in the clearing. She kicked the remains of her telekinetic explosions off the porch with her foot. Her return to elegant dressing entailed tall brown boots encased in slim fitting jeans and an expensive looking v-necked sweater peeking out from under a leather duster. In steep contrast, her emotional composure showed none of the careful touches of her wardrobe, as she gestured agitatedly. “This is like your dream come true.”

Alex dropped the groceries on the counter, and stepped back toward the door, staying just out of sight of the two siblings. 

“Yeah, it’s a real blast. I just ran into Agent Rollins in the grocery store, and he’s still trying to pin your husband and his crimes on me.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that because your beloved Alex Manes will ride to the rescue. Meanwhile, I still have an unmarked car in front of my house, three clients have canceled events on me because of the rumors, and my brother is dead.”

“He’s _not_ dead, Iz. But I get it, I know things suck for you, but this isn’t gonna last forever, okay?” Michael replied, his voice dropping the sarcastic edge and turning gentle and conciliatory at the first sign of Isobel’s pain. It spoke of a long-standing pattern between the two siblings.

“It might last forever, with you wrapped up here with _him_ instead of working to get Max back. I mean, are you so busy play-acting with your ex-boyfriend that you forgot about your family? About what matters?” Isobel’s voice went thin with distress..

Alex felt torn, his instincts screamed at him to step out on the porch and defend Michael’s decisions. Another voice reminded him that he couldn’t fight all of Michael’s battles, and the previous accusation of being controlling in the past held him in place.

“I haven’t forgotten about my family, Iz! I'm sorry I’m not sleeping in the cave with him like he did for you, but I have other shit I’m dealing with, it doesn’t mean I don’t care. I will text Liz back for god’s sake.” Michael was quiet after the explosion, before adding softer, “I was waiting for her to tell me she had a new lab set up, okay?”

“I just don’t want you to lose focus out here, Michael.”

“What do you think is going to happen? I’m here for a reason, it’s not a honeymoon.”

“If you say so. I thought we were supposed to work on our powers together. Have you been trying to figure out Max’s healing on your own then?”

Michael was silent in response.

“Do you have any theories on how we can get him back? No? So you can see why I was worried that you were focusing your genius brain on something other than helping us get Max back. Unless you’re not in a hurry to have him back?”

“What is wrong with you- of course I want him back now, Iz! He’s my damn brother, and yeah, the last ten years were rough between us, it doesn’t change shit about how I feel,” Michael replied, affront dripping from his voice. “I would do anything for you and Max. Anything.”

“I had to ask.”

“No, you didn’t, but I get it. I know you’re used to having Max to fall back on, and I’m the lesser brother in everything-”

“Michael!” Isobel cut off that train of poisonous talk firmly. “You’re right, I shouldn’t have questioned your commitment. It’s just... you didn’t see what I just saw, between you and Alex Manes.”

“I opened a door for him? It’s not news, you know he knows I'm an alien.” 

“It’s not that, it’s… I was in his head at the station, so I know how he feels about you, and I know how you feel about him. You said you wanted to look forward, that he was this crash landing in your life.”

“Yeah, he is, but what else am I supposed to do, Iz? There's not a lot of choices when he’s standing between me and an 8 by 10 cell,” Michael observed wryly. Alex bit his lower lip, listening. “Surviving impact is what I do, so stop looking at me like that. You’re seeing things that aren’t there.”

“Am I? That sickening little silent exchange complete with heart eyes with him was just a figment of my imagination then? I'm just trying to figure out what you’re really focused on, Michael. You think I don’t remember how this goes between you and him, but I do. Vividly. You always lose-” 

“My focus hasn't changed,” he cut off hotly, “Our kind, you included, make dumbass decisions because of love. Trust me, I learned my lesson. I got my mom killed, Max got himself basically killed, and then there’s Noah-”

A loud crack echoed from the outside, the sound of an explosion of timbers and a fainter cry of pain in the aftermath. Alex dropped any pretense of listening and started toward his porch. A messy family argument he could stay out of, but actual violence shoved all efforts of being an bystander aside. He was rounding the corner past the door, when he found Michael holding his face with his rolled up black bandanna, surrounded by broken timbers from the previously intact railing at his feet. “What the hell is going on?”

Michael instantly turned his back to Alex when he caught sight of him, attempting to hide a small blood trail dripping past the black fabric pressed against his jaw. “It’s fine. I kinda pushed a button I shouldn’t have.”

“Are you bleeding? How is that fine,” Alex gritted out, and turned to where Isobel had backed away from her brother and the jagged pieces of porch railing, her face white with horror and dismay with what she had apparently done. “I think you should leave.”

“No, wait.” Michael crossed the small patch of ground to stand between him and Isobel, “She’s having a rough time, Alex, and things just got a little heated, but it really is fine now.” He turned to Isobel, who was reaching toward his face and the make-shift bandage to pull it away to reveal a small gash on his jawline. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have even said his name.”

“I need Max back, Michael,” she replied with a hurt, choked voice, “I’m losing my mind here. I didn’t even try to explode that railing, it just happened. It’s like Liz said, that fifty pound weight on my chest where nothing feels real or right, don’t you feel that?” 

Isobel wavered on her feet, and moved to wrap her arms around Michael, keeping a wary eye on Alex’s tense and untrusting expression. Her eyes closed, as she pressed her forehead against his for a long moment. Shocked, she pushed back from the hold to stare at Michael in surprise. “Oh god, you don’t. You don’t feel it. You’re fine.”

“What are you talking about?” Michael said, echoing aloud the same thought Alex was having as he watched them from the porch. He dabbed at his jaw again, before dropping the cloth from his face. “I’m not fine, Izzy. Nothing about this situation is fine with me.”

“I don’t understand. Your energy after...after everything was so dark, Michael. You told me love was the worst thing that ever happened to you.” Her eyes flickered over to Alex briefly, before she continued, “And I believed you, but now-”

“Iz-”

“Here, let me show you. This is me,” Isobel locked her gaze on Michael, her eyes growing distant in a way that Alex recognized from his exposure to her abilities at the police station. This time it was Michael’s turn to push back sharply and stare at his sister in surprise. “So you see?”

Mutely Michael nodded, his lips pressed tightly together, before looking toward the cabin to meet Alex’s concerned gaze.

“I don’t know what this means. I should probably go, before I accidentally blow up more of this porch.” Isobel dug out her keys, backing away from Michael again, this time with a sad smile. “Call Liz, and stop avoiding me at the cave. If I can’t have you at the house because of the feds, then at least come by when I visit Max.” She turned to look at Alex as she paused in front of her car before glancing back at where Michael stood frozen. “Be careful, Michael.”

In his own state of turmoil, Alex couldn’t help but think about ‘a crash landing’. The worst thing that ever happened to him. He had a feeling that those phrases would join the myriad others in his mental Rolodex, revolving endlessly until his meds allowed him to seek sleep. It took a moment before he could remember the tools to stop the onset of spiraling thoughts, but after that he took comfort in counting the steps back into the safe haven of the cabin versus the perilous steps toward Michael.

Moving toward Michael, or moving away, was a familiar dilemma to him. The sharp knife of honesty noted pointedly that ‘away’ was a well traveled path, threadbare at this point.

Alex watched Michael as he stood stock still, the black cloth dangling forgotten from his fingers, as his sister carefully backed out of the driveway. After a moment, Alex pushed himself forward, skirting past the destroyed handrail and came around to face Michael. His eyes flicked from the distant gaze on Michael’s face down to the slowly bleeding cut. 

He started with the most obvious question to Michael. “What happened?”

Slowly Michael blinked once, twice, before focusing on Alex, “I really don’t know.”

Daringly, Alex reached up to touch the raw, sluggishly bleeding cut with his thumb. “Come back in the house, you could have splinters in that. Let me clean that up for you.”

Michael shuddered lightly at his fingertips, before nodding silently. 

***

Efficiently, Alex guided Michael to the small bathroom and seated him on the lid to the toilet. He pulled out his extensive first aid kit, to start the process of taking care of the cut. It was odd, to use his considerable knowledge of closing a wound on someone else, instead of twisting to find the best angle in the mirror for himself. 

In distinct opposition to earlier with Isobel, Michael sat worryingly quiet as Alex laid out clean cotton gauze, disinfectant, and a simple suture kit on the sink counter. He flinched, poking at the wound with his own fingertip to test the edges of the cut.

Alex grasped Michael’s wrist gently, moving it away from his face, and stepped close to him, his legs bracketing Michael’s knees securely. After a moment of tension, Michael let out a slow exhale and quivered as Alex reached for his face, cupping the underside of his jaw. 

He quirked a small smile as he used his hand to gently tilt Michael’s face toward the light and settled in with a pair of tweezers. “So that was a different side of Isobel,” he commented offhand. “Looks like I need a new handrail.”

“I can fix it.” 

With care he closed the tweezers on the edge of the splinter and slowly eased it clear of the wound, a fresh trickle of blood followed. Michael held still, not even breathing, as Alex bent in close to check for further splinters. 

Alex guided Michael’s face away and tipped downward, as he moved to examine a small cut near his ear. His hand supported the weight of Michael’s jaw as he brushed an errant curl away with his free hand. It was deeply satisfying to feel how trusting Michael was under his care, how pliant he was under Alex’s hands. 

There was an element of uncertainty in Michael, as if this type of attention was wholly new to him. Perhaps it was. Michael was probably used to patching his own wounds, the same way Alex was.

He glanced down at Michael’s mouth out of habit before pursing his lips to refocus on the cut. “Can I ask you a question?”

The movement of Michael’s throat rippled below Alex’s fingertips as Michael swallowed hard at the low husky prompt. His pupils had nearly swallowed the whiskey dark iris, while his carotid pulse hammered away almost visibly just below Alex’s careful touch, as he worked another small sliver out from a second cut almost to his hairline. “Sure,” Michael rasped softly.

“Do you really think love is the worst thing that ever happened to you?” Alex tightened his hold on Michael’s face as he felt him tense. He counted out the beats of his heart as he held in a breath to wait for the answer. If Michael truly balked at his grip, Alex promised himself he would release him, until then he knew he needed to know.

“Alex,” Michael licked his lower lip, before relaxing deeper into Alex’s hand at the increased pressure. “Whatever you’re thinking, stop. I didn’t mean it like that. I didn’t mean you.”

“How did you mean it?” He kept his tone light, as he moved his fingers through Michael’s hair, searching out any hidden wounds in the thick curls. It was probably a dirty move to take advantage of how loose Michael always got when someone stroked his hair.

“Jesus,” Michael breathed out, swallowing again. “Just, that. Fuck, it’s never been easy for me and I keep messing it up. It’s completely out of my control and- okay, you have to stop doing that.” He bit his lower lip, looking up at Alex, his eyes dark. 

“Sorry.” Taking pity on Michael, he moved his fingers back to the original wound, still sluggishly bleeding. He reached for the gauze cotton to soak in disinfectant to clean and mop up the blood gently. “This might sting a bit.”

“‘S fine, I’ve had worse,” Michael answered with a weak smile. “Definitely did worse to myself shaving with a cheap razor.”

Alex rolled his eyes, and pressed the cotton against the open cut, holding it firmly to help halt the blood flow. “Too bad Isobel hasn’t developed healing with her expansion into your powers. Might have come in handy after she blew up that railing.”

An unreadable expression passed over Michael’s face briefly before he glanced down at his healed left hand, flexing it lightly in thought. “No, thank you. I’ve had enough of the healing hand bullshit to last a lifetime.”

Unable to resist the opening, Alex spoke up, “Your hand, and Max. You haven’t really talked about it. I know you keep it wrapped most of the time, but why after ten years did you have him heal it?”

“Boy, you’ve wanted to ask that for a while, I can tell,” Michael smiled thinly, before sighing. “Who said I had him do anything? Ten years it’s been fucked and I never asked him to do a thing cause there were witnesses. Your dad. You.” Michael paused, looking up at Alex as he held the soft gauze in place, his smile going wry in acknowledgement, “I know I’m skilled in the bedroom, but even I couldn’t keep you so distracted and sex-dumb that you wouldn’t notice a perfectly healed hand during your leave. But Max thought he knew better than me, like fucking always, so he healed it. End of story,” Michael finished bitterly.

Well, it was a good thing that Max was currently in a pod, Alex thought. The idea of someone acting against Michael’s will, violating his consent in the most visible way, roused the type of deep, all encompassing anger that fueled much of Alex’s work against the Project. “That’s kinda fucked up that he did that to you.”

Michael shrugged, not arguing the point.

With one dangerous topic broached without casualties, Alex changed the subject to another fraught subject. “So what did Isobel show you in her mind?” He asked, dropping the ball of used gauze in the trash and picked up his suture kit. 

“It’s hard to describe.” 

“Try,” Alex urged softly, as he threaded a single suture to close the edges of the cut expertly. 

“Her mind has this vacuum feel, searching for the free-fall to stop. She’s just so sad right now.” Michael closed his eyes as Alex continued to work on the cut. “The psychic connection she had with Max is gone, plus, I don’t know, it’s hard to explain. It’s obvious to her, that I can’t fill that gap, so to speak.”

Alex nodded in thought, before closing the lid to his suture kit. “That’s probably a good thing. You said that Noah was frequently possessing her body? That type of abuse leaves a mark. It’s not healthy to trade one crutch for another.”

Patting a small white band-aid over the cut, Alex finally loosened his grip on Michael’s jaw, moving his thumbs down to massage the places on his neck where Alex had held him in place. This was a danger zone on Alex’s own body for anyone except Michael to touch. He had too many dark memories of his father trying to control him in the most simplistic way, cutting off his airway to breathe, to trust a stranger with such license. 

Michael kept his eyes closed as Alex stroked where the stubble was starting to reach beard length. The elegant lines of his throat were bare of a sign of a scar or any evidence of Noah’s attack. Perhaps Michael was over the ‘healing hand bullshit’, but Alex couldn’t help but feel that renewed relief all over again. 

Exhaling quietly, Michael parted his lips with a tease of his tongue pushing against his lower lip. Vividly Alex remembered pressing his thumb inside Michael’s mouth, stroking that clever tongue before threading his hands in Michael’s hair to guide him downward. Standing with his feet squared next to Michael’s, his legs bracketing Michael’s knees, with his hands clasped warmly against Michael’s face, he could do that again. He could press his thumb against that talented mouth and-

Time registered on him finally, as he was suddenly aware that his touch had crossed from a semi-dispassionate medical care into something more meaningful.

Something that was off limits between them. 

With one last careful arrangement of an errant curl, Alex let go of Michael’s face and gingerly stepped backward with his left foot to balance against his prosthesis. His pulse thundered loudly in his ears. It felt absurd that Michael couldn’t hear it in the tight confines of the bathroom.

“She didn’t think I had a hollow place inside my mind, from Max.” Michael answered, seemingly unaware of Alex’s state, and looked down at the dull blue tiled floor of the bathroom. His face closed off any emotion. “Guess the connection between us was too weak, since I’m not really their family-”

“Bullshit, Guerin. I saw you drop at the Wild Pony because of what Max did. You scared the hell out of me with that fit, which you wouldn’t have had if you didn’t have that bond with _your brother_. You are their family. And if you don’t believe that, well, you are my family-” 

“Alex-”

“What?”

“Are you done?” Alex stared at him, feeling flat-footed, before Michael continued, gesturing toward the bandage, “with fixing my face?”

It took a second, before Alex cracked a smile as Michael rolled his eyes, realizing what he had walked into. “Well, can anyone fix that face?”

“Ha-ha, you love this face, don’t lie.” Michael snorted, before turning to gaze in the small mirror to inspect the white bandage that covered the left-side of his jaw, missing the helpless smile on Alex’s face.

Feeling overwhelmed, he took advantage of Michael’s distraction to close up his first aid kit and store it in his bedroom. His fingers buzzed from the time spent on Michael's skin. Half of him was still angry at what had happened earlier with Isobel, but the selfish half couldn't help but enjoy the excuse to care for Michael. 

Perhaps Isobel wasn't the only one losing their mind here. 

There was a soft noise behind him, and he turned to find Michael only inches away. “Thank you,” Michael said. “For fixin’ me up, and for the pep talk. I’m gonna be so late to the garage though, so I should head out.”

“What about lunch? You haven't eaten yet.” 

“I'll get somethin' in town. Gotta get those cars squared away first, then I guess track down Liz to see what sort of lab she can put together. Iz had a point, I haven’t been pulling my weight on that and the longer Max stays gone, the worst it is for everyone. It’s no wonder she’s pissed at me.”

Alex frowned at the implication, worried that Michael had readily agreed with Isobel. From the out of control telekinesis to her casual invasion of Michael’s mind, Alex wasn’t ready to accept anything from his sister as grounded in reality. One single conversation had Michael doubting his ties to Max. “There’s only so many hours in the day, Guerin. I don’t think your sister is in a good frame of mind to judge what is and what isn’t a good use of your time-”

Like a switch, Michael’s face drained quickly of any openness and hardened at the mild rebuke toward Isobel. “What was it you said to me, if I had friends I would understand? Well if you had a sibling or family worth a shit, you would get it, Alex.”

It was hard to argue that point. Alex didn’t have a sibling worth a shit as Michael put it. At least he didn’t think so, he hadn’t heard from Clay or Gregory in a while. Flint was a lost cause. The less said about Jesse the better.

However, with time and therapy, Alex had gained a little clarity over his toxic family dynamics, at least enough to realize blood ties weren’t where the meaning of the word ended, but where it began. 

“You’re right, Guerin, my brothers completely suck. But did you ever think about maybe that’s why I can clearly see that Isobel was way out of line earlier with you?” 

“She was just upset, and who can blame her after Noah-”

“Exactly, after what she went through Noah jumping in and out of her body, she just jumps into your mind like that? I didn’t exactly hear you consent to that.”

“It’s fine, she does that all the time with Max, normally I’m too loud for her to try that with-”

Alex sputtered incredulously at the excuse. “‘All the time with Max’? You’re not Max.”

“I realize that! But we’re aliens, Alex, with different needs, I guess. And if she needs that from me, then it’s fine.” Michael sighed, rubbing his fingers through his hair restlessly as his temper calmed slightly. “You don’t have to protect me from Isobel, okay? Just chill for me.”

“I realize that Isobel went through a very intense trauma, okay? But so did you,” Alex pointed out reasonably.

A rough laugh, as sharp as shards of glass, erupted from Michael, and that’s when Alex realized that this conversation was on the verge of disaster. 

“Trust me, I haven’t forgotten. Not a fuckin’ day goes by that I’m not reminded of it in some way.” The caustic laughter faded to bitterness, then to resignation before finally settling into grief on Michael, a quick flip through emotions that Alex recognized from just after Caulfield. “Fuck. I’m sorry, but I just, I gotta go. I’m late, and I’ve wasted too much time as it is today. Don’t wait up.”

Alex stood, and watched as Michael retreated from the cabin, the door slamming loudly in the distance. The next sound was the clatter of gravel that the spun tires kicked up in an impatient escape away from the cabin. “Well that could have gone better,” he said into the empty room bitterly. Absently he noted that he should avoid criticizing Isobel in the future with Michael, clearly he hit a tender spot. 

He retreated to the kitchen and started unpacking the long neglected shopping bags, thankful he had the presence of mind to stow the ground beef already. He moved the beef into the freezer, leaving the more readily used items for dinner in the refrigerator and shuffled his grandiose idea of making tacos to wait for another night.

His phone chimed helpfully, letting him know that Michael had made it past the first set of cameras. The electronic beacons reminded him of his most important purpose, to keep Michael safe. He had run out of excuses.

Isobel was right, maybe not about Michael’s inattention or her criticism of his priorities, but Alex was unmistakably guilty of losing sight of the mission of reviving Max in the last few days. Spending time with Michael still had the new and hard to believe it was happening thrill to him.

Purposefully, he moved the coffee table, the unseen wheels gliding easily, to reveal the door to his bunker. Isobel was also correct in the fact that they hadn’t made much progress on anything since Max had gone into the pod. Alex had been so busy watching the movements of law enforcement, the secondary objective of saving what was left of Michael’s family fell to the wayside.

It was possible the answer to that laid in the experiments and data from Caulfield. The number of drives retrieved by Kyle, to parse and decode still, was numerous. 

He ignored his stomach, growling that he missed lunch himself, and started the first set of scans on the data. The first step was to find all the data on N-39, Michael’s mother. If he could not give Max back, then perhaps he could give Michael a few more answers about his past.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 9 unexpectedly grew from 6600 to 11000 words over the weekend. IDEK.


	10. Chapter 10

True to Michael’s words, the time for dinner arrived and passed, without a sound on the security system. Alex reluctantly climbed the stairs up to the kitchen and assembled a pathetic sandwich of ham and cheese to eat when he could no longer ignore his hunger. He chewed mechanically, not tasting the meat as he gazed thoughtfully at his leg. 

His stump was slightly swollen, protesting the long hours of sitting in front of his computer to isolate the footage of N-39, or Michael’s mother based on the cell designation. If he had any sense of self-preservation, he would close up the bunker, take off his leg, and rest in bed. Of course if he had any sense of self-preservation, he would have taken that final posting at Bolling Air Force Base examining intercepted malware for clues of state-sponsored cyberterrorism. It was a dream job, there were only three suspects to present as enemies to command.

Instead, he had come back to Roswell feeling the pull of unfinished business, and had uncovered a conspiracy where literally anyone he encountered, in or out of uniform, could be a threat. The only shortcut to figuring out someone’s complicity in alien torture was whether their last name was Manes. 

The clock clicked closer to nine, and there was still no sign of Michael’s approach. 

Purposefully he turned the screen of his phone over on the counter to help control the urge to check for a message. Alex reasoned that Michael had already warned Alex he would be late, calling might be considered a step too far out of their careful balance of burgeoning friends and forced roommates. A boyfriend would call, not that Alex was that or had ever been that to anyone. He thought about checking in with Maria about what the consensus was on expectations owed or demanded between fake lovers, except he hadn’t yet shed the awkwardness between them.

Liz was just as clueless as he was, and probably worse when it came to intimacy issues. After all, he’d never left a fiancé in Denver. 

Then there was Rosa- well, depending on how up to date she was on smartphones, she would either tell him to track Michael’s phone or she would be urging him to borrow a friend’s car and drive by Sanders’s. For all that she teased him in high school, she was the one who taught him the value of camouflaged surveillance and snooping on phones. 

In retrospect, it probably wasn’t that surprising to learn she was the secret daughter of a cop.

He glanced at his silent phone and then considered the idea of sleeping while Michael was out. Based on the anxious state his thoughts were already in, he discarded that as unlikely without doubling up on his prescriptions, which would leave him so sedated he would be next to useless in the case of trouble. With that in mind, he dropped his plate into the sink, pocketed his phone and shuffled slowly back downstairs to the computer system to continue his work. 

Kyle’s haphazard ransacking of hard drives from Caulfield had netted a few good gems when it came to security footage. It was not just footage from 2014, which captured every frame of his father murdering one of the few adults who gave a damn about him, that had been scooped up before the demolition, but video logs going all the way back to 1965. Alex had to assume the previous records were in an analog form lurking in some government records storage, offsite hopefully. 

He had just unlocked the codec on sound when his phone rang, jarring him away from the view of Michael’s mother seated in a chair with restraints on, in front of a man who vaguely looked like his uncle Gregory, his older brother’s namesake. Maria’s avatar was clear in front of him. Perhaps last week he might have hesitated in taking her call, but with Michael still not home, he immediately accepted the call, “Hey, what’s up?”

“You need to come pick up Guerin.”

Alex squinted at his watch, and reached under his reading glasses to rub at his blurry vision. It was after midnight. “Is he okay?”

“He’s fine,” Maria assured him but with a tone of something Alex could not immediately identify. “He’s drunk and spoiling for a fight. If you don’t show up soon, I think he'll find one, and you said you wanted him to have a low profile?”

“Yes! I'll be there as soon as I can. Um, do what you can to keep him from landing in jail.” Alex pushed himself away from his computer desk and stood up wobbling, before catching himself roughly as his right leg gave way. His phone slipped from his pinned grip of his ear to his shoulder. He swore sharply under his breath, before bending painfully to scoop up his phone and start the unsteady progress toward the stairs. 

“Are you okay? Do you want me to call someone else?” Maria demanded, alarmed by the noise on his side of the phone. 

The name that hovered between them was Max, but he was out of reach. It was far too suspicious to have Isobel scooping up the suspect in her husband’s disappearance, from the same local bar where another man had ended up dead. Kyle, he could call him, but it was unlikely he could convince a drunk and angry Michael to leave with him. 

Liz was a good prospect, she cared about Michael outside of whom he was to Max. She was unfortunately prone to being single-minded in her attention, inclined to leave her phone on silent when in the midst of projects or just would outright ignore a call she felt was unimportant. Alex had had to school her in the past on her tunnel vision when it came to Maria, and that was just when she was trying to solve her sister’s murder. Now she was trying to revive her alien boyfriend.

There was sadly no one else to call. 

“Sorry, dropped it, I'm fine. I'll be there before one.” Alex replied, gripping tightly to the railing and hauling himself upward with sheer bloody stubbornness. “Just keep him occupied, if you can. See you soon.” He punched the end button, and finished the climb to the living room with both hands. 

He blessed the steering controls in his Explorer and his foresight in changing out of his jeans into basketball shorts. Once he settled behind the wheel, he loosened the straps on his prosthesis for relief in the ill-fit, and headed out for the forty-five-minute drive to the Wild Pony. The pain and tingling nerve endings made for an excellent distraction for his thoughts as he headed to pick up Michael.

Perhaps he should have guessed that Michael would end his day at the garage, not with Liz Ortecho, but at the Wild Pony. 

Michael was no teetotaler, so it was unlikely he would lose control and reveal his secret, even in the likely emotionally compromised position Isobel had left him, Alex reasoned. It was strange to find comfort in his father’s words, but the litany of drunk and disorderlies in the past had never landed Michael in a government laboratory.

Tonight would be no different, he vowed silently. 

Eventually, he caught sight of the welcoming sign of a bucking bronco on the edge of Rt-380, the neon yellow moving motif cutting through the crisp December night. He signaled to pull into the almost full lot. Perhaps Maria was right, the word that the bar had been the scene of a crime was pulling in more business than usual. Roswell was full of ghouls and town gossip-mongers, eager to skirt the edges of controversy just to have something new to say.

He pushed through the front doors, sidestepping Missy Collins who was precariously trying not to puke in the cactus arrangement in front of the bar. Once upon a time, she had been the Yearbook Editor, but at one o’clock in the morning with smeared eye makeup, she was far from the stylish high school mean girl he remembered. 

“Over here,” Maria called, catching Alex’s attention as he stepped into the loud music. She tilted her head sideways, where there was a slumped figure against the bar counter. The black cowboy hat was harmlessly resting next to a riotous head of curls. 

Alex straightened his shoulders back, and walked confidently towards Michael. He ignored what were sure to be the stares of his fellow Roswell citizens, seeing his prosthesis peeking out from the edge of his shorts. He dug his fists into his heavy parka, his one nod toward the current December weather. “Your Uber is here, Guerin.”

Michael lifted his head from the bar blearily, the white bandage on his jaw sharp on his red-flushed face as his eyes tried desperately to focus. “Alex! You’re here!”

Alex lifted an eyebrow at the exuberant greeting, and looked over his head to Maria’s face. Instead of looking long-suffering, or even with concern, her face was solidly devoid of emotion. A pang of alarm was building inside. “Maria?”

Maria shook herself, and stowed the cloth she used to wipe the bar down with a toss. “Better get him out of here, Alex.”

“Are you okay?” 

Michael pushed himself upright, steadying his left hand on the bar, the ever-present black bandanna conspicuously absent as well. The level of recklessness rose from just drunk to suicidal. “S’ fine, she’s filled with goodwill to mankind. Jus’ rethinkin’ who that means.”

Alex felt cold, and glanced up at Maria to confirm his suspicions. She met his gaze, evenly, and slapped a slip of white paper on the bar top. “I take cash or plastic, but that’s it.”

He fished out his credit card to place it on the bar, and then turned to carefully help Michael’s uncoordinated efforts at shrugging his jean jacket onto his shoulders. After settling Michael’s hat on his disheveled head, he scrawled an approximation of his signature on the receipt. “Call me later, Maria. We can discuss this.”

She tilted her head, watching the sloppy limbs of Michael get organized underneath his steady arm, nearly taking a header off the bar stool. “Of course you know, you know everything and share absolutely nothing in return. I get to be the only fool who doesn’t know.”

“Hey!” Alex barked, keeping an arm around Michael to steady him. “Nothing has changed, okay? Nothing, not for me, and not about who he is.”

“You sure about that?” Maria challenged, her expression still hard to read.

“Look for the helpers, remember? Not the monsters,” Alex offered, before gently guiding Michael to the exit. Maria stayed quiet at the pointed reminder. “I’m serious, we are talking about this later.”

Michael listed hard against Alex, calling up a new level of agony on his right leg. He was regretting not taking advantage of the time earlier in the evening to have the prosthetic leg off. He felt stupid for not predicting that an emotional blow out with Isobel would, could only end in a later disaster.

Chiding himself over missing the signs distracted Alex from the pain, as he kept a steady hand on Michael, and pointed him toward the Explorer. He helped him into the car, guiding his arms and legs inside before closing the door.

Alex took advantage of the closed door to press his forehead against the frame of the car for strength. His leg barked at him, as he carefully made his way around to the driver’s side of the car to start the long trek home. 

In the meantime, Michael had managed to get the seat belt around him unassisted, but he kept his head tipped sloppily toward Alex, “Thanks.”

Alex gripped the steering wheel as they left the lights of the Roswell behind and headed toward the highway signs. “What are friends for?”

“Are we friends yet?” Michael murmured quietly, his face held up by the nylon strap as he slumped in the seat.

“What do you think we are?” Alex asked in turn, unable to resist the question, regardless of the level of intoxication in Michael. 

“We’re cosmic, baby.” 

“Cosmic?” Alex smiled softly, warmed at the word and kept driving as he listened closely to Michael next to him. “Guess we are that. But I hope we’re friends too at this point.”

Michael hummed in agreement, still staring at Alex’s profile. He cleared his throat under Michael’s scrutiny, and asked, “What happened tonight with Maria?”

The question elucidated a groan. Michael twisted his body against the seat in messy agitation. “What didn’t happen, fuck. I really fucked that up.” His cowboy hat dropped down to hide his face. “After work, I tried Liz, but she had to cover the diner and close. So, I texted Maria and snuck up the backstairs to her apartment, ‘cause she was working the 10 to 4 shift tonight and I just-“

Alex inhaled sharply, thankful at that moment his eyes were so tired and dry, to make mustering a tear near impossible. “You went there to get laid,” he finished with a deadened voice. 

“No! Well… I don’t know, I just wanted to feel somethin’ simple. She’s fun, has always distracted me before, and she’s just so light. Good energy and makes me feel light too. And after Isobel, I needed that.” 

Well, that was almost as bad as hearing that Michael had wanted to get laid, seeking Maria out for comfort and relief in the wake of a fight. Coming home, Alex corrected his thoughts instantly, not home, but coming back to the cabin had not registered to Michael as an option.

“Fuck, anyway she could tell I was upset, ‘cause of my fight with Izzy, and then I was kind of shitty to you too,” Michael continued, his voice wobbling between a drunken slur and exhaustion. “Tried talkin’ around it, that it was about Isobel bein’ impatient about Max not being back, but somehow Maria had heard about Liz and her break-up with Max. She just kept sayin’ that Liz should move on, that Max wasn’t worth holding on to on account of killing someone, that it was best if he never came back. Then I kind of lost it, and told her.” 

He kept one hand on the steering wheel, and reached over to pull Michael’s hat off to see his face. “Everything?” Alex demanded sharply. “She knows you’re an alien? And about where Max really is and Rosa?”

“Everything,” Michael agreed, and then sniffled sharply as a tear slipped down his face. “Hearing Max could bring back a dead girl but never attempted to help Mimi.” He shuddered in remembrance. “It was not good. She says she won’t tell, but she also doesn’t want to see my face for a while.”

“It was probably just the shock.” 

“Nah, she’s just smart. It’s the way people should act.” Michael swiped at his face, his tears coming faster. “Stay away from the unnatural freak.”

“Hey!” Alex grabbed his hand, and pulled it over to his lap to grasp as he increased the speed of the SUV to the cabin. He needed to get Michael home to sober up. “Do not say that. You’re a good person.”

“I’m selfish. I expect people to jus’ accept my bullshit, then I get mad when they won’t. My family was right. I haven’t put anyone first in my whole life.”

“Okay that is just not true. The shed? You got between me and my dad. This summer, you could have been a real asshole to me after how I treated you, but you weren’t. Those are not the acts of a selfish person.” Alex exhaled hard, trying to calm his spiked pulse. “We’ll talk about this more when you’re sober.”

“You don’t count, Alex,” Michael muttered, and patted Alex’s thigh consolingly. “Exception to every rule. ‘S why Izzy was so mad.” 

“Right. She thinks I distract you.” Alex bit his lower lip, and considered the other remark Isobel had made, that he was ‘a crash landing’ and the worst thing that had ever happened to him. 

Before he could comment further, Michael pushed on the seat belt to slide closer to Alex in the front seat. “Worse than distraction, she thinks you own me. It’s not DNA, or stardust, or carbon atoms that I’m made up of, but little bits of Alex Manes and, man, that is the worst sometimes.”

“The worst?” Alex swallowed hard, echoing his words.

“Can’t build a house on sand, and we live in a desert. Sand blows away and houses crumble to dust, every time.”

Alex squeezed Michael’s hand again, before guiding him away to his side of the car. “Not this time. I’m here.”

“‘Cause you’re crazy, Alex. Maybe I’m the sand in this scenario, ever think of that?” Michael blew through his lips, “Poof, I fall apart and fuck things up.”

Alex sighed, recognizing the old vein of insecurity that was brought to the surface. There was a cycle here with Michael that he recognized from within. First it was insecurity, then it was self-hatred and finally the maudlin portion of the night. It would be a miracle if Michael didn’t attempt physical intimacy next. They were both so matched at times when their broken pieces lined up, using touch to drown out the voices that echoed inadequacy.

He turned sharply at their turn off, nearly missing it in the dark and headed up their gravel drive. His phone helpfully chimed in the quiet, setting off the camera alert. “We’re almost home, you can sleep this off, and we can talk about what’s next in the morning with Maria.”

“Can I stay with you tonight? I kind of haven’t had a full night of sleep in forever.” 

Alex fumbled with the handbrake, finding the controls on the steering column with a heavy hand. He parked in front of the cabin, the proximity lights triggered and shined into the SUV, illuminating Michael’s tired but hopeful face still sporting the carefully applied bandage Alex had placed on him. His curls frayed wildly, mussed from raking through them forcefully. Between the fight with Isobel and the later one with Maria, it was clear that Michael was worn through and in need of comfort.

He had yet to discover a way of turning Michael away when he was in need.

“Never mind-”

“Yes,” Alex answered, realizing he had waited a moment too long. “You can sleep in my bed. Just to sleep.”

The brilliant smile he received in response was sweet, even if it was still showing the lingering effects of intoxication. Alex could not help but remember just how poor his sense of self-preservation was these days. There was always a chance this would not end in disaster. 

A very slim chance.

Once inside the cabin, Michael vanished into the bathroom to shower off the work day and his time in the bar, while Alex eased off his prosthesis, and started the nightly routine of massaging and moisturizing his skin irritation from under the tight liner and pressure of the sock.

He relaxed flat on his bed, edging over enough for Michael to join him from his shower, closed his eyes to the domestic sounds in the bathroom. Sleep caught up with him before he could worry whether Michael would be coming to bed with clothing on.

*** 

There was a warm arm wrapped insistently against Alex’s side, keeping him solidly pressed against the almost uncomfortably hot skin draped over his back. 

He opened his eyes, wide awake, and held his breath. The events of yesterday rolled through his memory, from Isobel at the cabin, to his work on the Caulfield drives, until finally the after midnight pick up of a drunk and upset Michael at the Wild Pony. Shit, he told Maria the truth finally.

Even though he had advocated for letting her in on the secret, he had hoped Michael would have done it under more controlled circumstances. Not upset, and certainly with that sneering self-nihilistic approach that Michael wrapped everything important to him in. Gunpowder and an open spark came to mind.

Alex laid still, his mind going over the next disaster to manage, and let out a slow exhalation to push away the intrusive thoughts. He could, instead of worrying, simply enjoy being held again by Michael. He could take these moments to hoard selfishly, and perhaps use them to rebuild that lingering hope that this was not temporary.

Unhurriedly, Alex twisted in Michael's hold to face him on the pillow. His movements caused a small crease of annoyance on Michael’s face, before settling back into a sleepy comfort when the warm body that he was so firmly wrapped around made no move to leave. 

Yesterday’s wound from Isobel’s loss of control had closed well around the stitch Alex had used. The white bandage was missing, perhaps discarded after the shower, or lost in the restless movements of sleep.

The shower in well water made those erratic curls frizz against the crush of pillowcase. Alex traced his gaze over the well-loved lock that always fell into Michael’s eyes, and followed it down to the even thicker flush of stubble painted over Michael's jawline. He had learned from living with Michael now that shaving was something only tackled on the Monday, Wednesday and Friday mornings. 

There were so many things that Alex had noticed that triggered further questions he had held inside. He did not know, but he wanted to ask if aliens had sensitive skin in shaving or was this just evidence of doing the bare minimum in grooming standards. Michael was so utilitarian in his clothing choices, was that personal taste or a sign of economic strain? There was only a simple tube of no-name toothpaste and Ivory soap on their shared bathroom sink, no sign of aftershave, or cologne, or even deodorant, and he wanted to know if that was a matter of skin preference.

One thing he had noticed, even as a teenager, was Michael smelled differently from everyone he had ever met. Something he once thought was from homelessness was now something he’d learned to categorize as alien since it was present even after a shower. There was a soft resinous scent wrapped in an almost nutty note that was concentrated near Michael’s throat and oddly enough, his lower back, as if aliens had different sweat glands. Maria had once joked he smelled like a river, but Alex had always considered it closer to the scent of freshly cut grass or the scent the hot sun released from rich soil. The scent of rain after a long drought, where the barren broken places of the desert opened up to drink greedily from the sky.

Even in the middle of New Mexico summers working outside, Alex could not remember thinking that Michael smelled. Sometimes it was the odors of his activities that clung to his clothing, like the horses from the ranch or the grease from car engines but never the sort of male funk Alex was all too familiar with from shared military barracks or long patrols in the desert with his fellow airmen.

No one smelled great after 48 hours of humping 60 pounds of gear through searing heat and freezing nights, but had Michael been with him overseas, he would have been the exception.

He tilted his nose toward the pillow they had shared, and inhaled deeply, catching their mixed scent in the back of his throat and closed his eyes in satisfaction. There was something primal and possessive in his brain that purred in delight over the mix. He felt the raw open places in his heart, soften and heal under their two scents, the parched cracked earth and the cooling balm of rain. 

A set of amused whiskey-gold eyes was watching him when Alex finally opened his eyes again. “Whatcha doing?” Michael rasped in curiosity, his voice shot from the night before.

Alex blinked in surprise, and fought to control the blush at being caught out sniffing Michael like a creep. He ignored the heat in his ears, and dropped his eyes to their entangled embrace. “Didn’t mean to wake you.”

“Uh huh. ‘S okay.” Michael made no move to pull away, instead his thumb started a slow dragging pattern on Alex’s shoulder. “So?”

Feeling stupid with his curiosity but too tired to disassemble, he blurted out, “Do you not like cologne?”

A ghost of insecurity swept over Michael’s face before he smirked in cocky response. “You sayin’ I smell? I did shower last night, your highness.”

“No, I mean yes, you smell, not bad, just differently,” Alex stuttered awkwardly, before blushing again. “I noticed you don’t have any aftershave or deodorant, I was just curious if it was an alien thing or a you thing.”

Michael kept his hand rubbing soft circles as he looked thoughtful in return. “Jeez, I just don’t get you sometimes. I tell you I'm an alien who hatched from a pod, and you ask about my family stuff. I'm here naked, next to you, and now you want to know about my grooming habits.”

It was his turn to smirk at Michael, mustering his own coolly arrogant response, even as he felt the tingling of excitement in his stomach at the voiced confirmation of what he suspected last night. “I’ve seen naked men before, more to the point, I’ve seen you naked before. Is it so wrong that I want to know everything about you? Like does the artificial smell bother you? Is your skin sensitive to it? Do you get razor burn or ingrown hairs?”

The bed shook a bit as Michael started laughing in response. “Okay, freak. One question at a time.”

Alex waited patiently, raising his eyebrow pointedly as Michael smiled. He slowly moved his hand up Alex’s shoulder to find his collarbone before sweeping his thumb against the rough grain of Alex’s own stubble, pebbled black against the warm olive tones of his skin. “Do you get razor burn, Alex?” he asked in a low rumble, “I noticed you shave every day, close to the grain. That a military thing? I can tell you for me, it’s economics. Razors cost money, so does aftershave and cologne. I’ve got a bottle of Stetson that Iz gave me for Christmas one year as a joke, but really, I’m just not in the habit of thinking about it.”

“Oh…” Alex exhaled, his eyes dropping to Michael’s mouth out of habit. 

“No alien conspiracy, I’m just poor.” Michael smirked again, before leisurely pulling his hand away to tuck behind his head. 

Alex hoped he kept the feelings of disappointment from his face, even though it was a wise retreat. Michael’s fingers rubbing at his jawline echoed that morning in the Airstream, and awakened the barely banked desire that was just skin deep. Tangled close together like this would give him away sooner, rather than later.

“I guess if I think about it, maybe my skin is special? Never had breakouts, or rashes, or even lice, and I was certainly exposed at the group home.”

“Lice don’t like salt. So your skin pH has a lot to do with breakouts,” Alex mused out loud. “You never thought about it?”

“About all the ways I could be different from you biologically? Eh, usually when I was terrified I'd done something to reveal myself. One of those happy I never got sick but then shitting myself that someone would notice I never got sick. Only kid who never got chicken pox, only kid who never got head lice but I let them shave my head just to blend in.” 

Alex made a helpless noise of pain at the thought of his curls sheared clean for no reason. “At least once you came back to Roswell, you had Max and Isobel to compare notes with on this.”

“Some. Max was interested in our powers and making sure we stayed hidden. I tried to talk to him about stuff, like did he notice he never got a pimple? Or why do we look so much like a human when our species evolved on another planet somewhere? The carbon-based ooze and primordial roots of life must be universal in some way to form us so-” Michael broke off his lecturing tone, and turned his head toward Alex to confess softly, “he used to make me so furious that he would rather read about dead Russian pricks than ask questions about the universe. Even before we fell out over Rosa's death, we had some good blowouts about his intellectual blinders.”

Alex met his gaze unflinchingly, even as his heart broke at the underlying grief at the mention of Max. He almost wished Isobel were here now, to see just how present Max was for Michael in his every memory and thought. “We will get Max back.”

“I know.” Michael sighed, and stared up at the ceiling. “Izzy was right. Being here, with you now, isn’t so bad.”

“So living with me is not a total nightmare like you expected?”

“Like you aren’t surprised we haven’t killed each other?” Michael countered dubiously. “Our track record before wasn’t great.”

Alex licked his lower lip and struggled to find the words to explain. Everything about Michael was both the easiest fit, like an elegant code laid out logically, but at the same time, there was that error message flashing in the background, that this was just temporary, he had trapped Michael here. 

“Uh oh, I recognize that look,” Michael commented, reaching up to rake his fingers against his scalp tiredly. “Oh boy, I’m too hungover for this.” He started to sit up, the blanket slipping down his shoulder.

“Wait.”

“It’s okay. Thanks for letting me crash here last night with you.” Michael swung his legs to the floor, and bent to grab a pair of jeans from the rug. 

Alex grabbed Michael's wrist, halting his retreat. He did not have his leg on, and he knew that if he let Michael go, without clearing this up, the precious ground they had closed might be lost. “Our past record wasn’t great but I didn’t expect a disaster to have you here. I like having you here.”

“You never wanted me here before.” Michael dropped his eyes to Alex’s grip on his wrist, his face expressionless, before looking back up. “And now you have that look on your face.”

“I don’t know what you look mean, but um, it wasn’t a question of want, before. It’s never been that. As for now, I was just thinking about how easy it’s been. How much I've liked having this time to get to know you. Being friends. The um, the difficult thing is remembering you don’t have a choice being here.” 

A smile twitched at the corner of Michael’s mouth as he relaxed at the explanation. “I do have a choice, Alex. I could have slept in my trailer every night, but I didn't.”

Alex opened his mouth to ask him why he didn’t choose the trailer when his security camera alert chimed on his phone. He let go of Michael’s wrist, and twisted to pick his phone off the nightstand to open his app. 

“This is too early for Isobel.” 

The classic body of Michael’s truck was distinctive on the gray-scale camera feed. He was not sure if it was a good sign that Maria was bringing back Michael’s truck so early in the morning after her unsettled reaction to aliens, or if it meant she hadn’t finished the fight. Regardless, Michael was nearly nude in his bed, and he was several time-consuming steps from being ready to see anyone. 

“It’s not Isobel. It’s Maria, with your truck,” Alex answered, glancing up to see a pained reaction on Michael’s face. “She’s probably here to apologize after last night. Does she know the threat that exists? Have you told her about my dad and his work?” 

“Didn’t get that far, kinda got stuck on the Alien Jesus Easter surprise with Rosa, before I could turn to the fun chapter of being the target of an alien hunting op by Jesse Manes and co.” Michael finished pulling on a pair of jeans. He tugged a plaid shirt down over his riotous head of curls, a shirt that Alex vaguely recognized as his, and handed over the crutches to Alex. “I guess I better go face the music and let you get dressed.”

It was not cowardice that kept Alex in the bathroom to shower, find a new clean liner, then take particular care in doing his hip stretches and forearm curls in his physical therapy, before meticulously slipping the socks over his stump and fitting the liner in place to secure his prosthesis. It was just his usual routine, performed as deliberately and as carefully as possible. His phone was silent, which meant even with his delay, Maria was still here. 

Alex took a deep breath and held it, letting the possibilities play out just once in his head. She could be there to repeat her reaction from last night and tell Michael he was not welcome in her life or the bar ever again. It would reinforce Michael’s fears and make Alex’s own ability to hold onto their friendship harder, regardless of desire. She could also be there to apologize and offer that nothing changed in her feelings after the revelation, which would further complicate Alex’s own feelings and green light a relationship between them. 

Methodically he closed off that train of thought and brought the more immediate concern of Maria’s cooperation with the Noah and now Hank Gibbons investigation forward as a priority. Hurt people, and even more so, scared people, were prone to making poor choices in judgment, his life experience had taught him that. 

Having spent too much time preparing himself, Alex set out to locate Michael and Maria. The door to Michael’s claimed bedroom was open, the bed neatly made and looked untouched. Only a stack of flannel shirts, resting on top of a pair of folded jeans placed on a chair next a massive belt buckle, revealed signs of the occupant. 

The living room was also empty. There was the smell of coffee, but surprisingly enough, no aroma of food in the air. Only a week into Michael moving in with him and that already was an unusual event. Alien metabolism or else he just enjoyed access to a real kitchen, most mornings Alex could find him at the stove sizzling bacon or prepping eggs.

His preferred coffee mug was already out next to the fresh pot, along with a protein bar. Subtle as a sledgehammer, but not without merit, he needed to eat in order to take his meds. 

The soft murmur of voices caught his ear, and he realized that Michael and Maria were out on the back porch braving the chilly December air. He slipped on a discarded coat from the back of his kitchen table chair and stepped outside to see Michael stacking a pyramid of logs with the use of his telekinesis. 

“Pretty cool, right?” Alex dug his hands into the pockets of the coat, pushing the edges closer. He stood next to Maria, watching the intricate pattern of movement that Michael sent the logs spinning in before resting them a complex rough bark Jenga exhibition. 

Her face was uncharacteristically serious as she stared at Michael. “Guess he can give my Vegas psychic act some real competition.”

Michael set the wood logs back precisely into the grip of the firewood rack. “That’s it. That's what I can do. It's not flashy like what Max could do. And nothing we do comes without a cost.” He snapped his fingers at Alex with a beckoning gesture. “Toss me that flask in your pocket.”

Alex opened his mouth to ask what flask, before he realized this was not his jacket. Silently he slipped his hand into the heavy side of the jacket and flipped the silver flask to him. The astringent scent of nail polish remover wafted on the slight breeze as Michael took several sips. 

“And you’re out of secrets?” Maria held out her hand, and started to count off her fingers, the rings and jewelry glinting in the morning sunshine. “You’re an alien, you are Alex’s ex-boyfriend, you covered up my- up Rosa’s murder, you obviously cheat at pool, and you’re currently covering up another murder and one alien coma because the government wants to stick you in a jar like a fetal pig?”

A visible look of discomfort chased across Michael’s face before his steady sense of faux confidence took over. 

“Are you saying the mystery is gone?” He lifted his chin, his mouth curved in a pugilistic smile. Just as quickly as he mustered a prickly defense, it was dropped as Maria took a deep breath to fire back. “Okay, yes, that’s it. You know everything.”

Maria narrowed her eyes on Michael, seemingly stuck on staring at his chest intently. “Somehow I doubt that, but I think you think you've told me everything.” She turned toward Alex, her eyes warming marginally but glancing up and down at his body. “I guess time will tell if that’s true.”

Her phone chimed quietly, indicating a new text message. She glanced down at her phone, and started typing rapidly with a pleased expression, worlds away from the stony composure she had shown Michael. “Rosa wants to see me.” Maria pressed her hand against her mouth as fresh tears glinted in her eyes. “I can’t believe I’m going to see her again.”

Michael shifted nervously. “I can uh drive you? I gotta get to work, and the Crashdown is on the way.” He glanced over at Alex, seemingly remembering the last visit Maria had made to the cabin. “Unless you want to?”

The palatable tension that was still wrapped around Michael and Maria kept him from waving his offer off. Alex could not control the fall out between them, and while he often pushed himself into a role of playing peacemaker, the legacy of his volatile childhood, for now he was content to stand back. Let Maria make her own choice with all of the information. “I’ve got some preliminary documents for Rosa, they’re in the bunker, if you don’t mind passing them on for me. Final documents might be a couple more weeks.”

“Crime always takes longer than you think,” Michael joked weakly, before turning to Maria. “Let me grab my keys, and I’ll take you back to town.”

“Cheaper than Uber, so I accept.” Maria offered a small smile in return, and started to follow Michael back into the house, holding the door for Alex in turn. 

He wrapped his hand around his abandoned cup of coffee, testing the warmth. Alex lifted his cup to take a drink, and used the rim of the cup as a shield to study Maria. His brain kept trying to alert him to a change in the atmosphere between them. A ripple of unease. The most obvious source was worrying about Michael and what could happen next between them.

“Are you sure you’re okay with it? With him being…?” he asked in a soft voice, listening to the coffee table move and the bunker stairs descend as Michael descended below.

“I’m fine.” She met his gaze evenly. Alex lifted his eyebrow and waited, because they both knew no one uttering the phrase ‘I’m fine’ meant it. “I understand, how’s that? I understand why he didn't say anything. What's he going to do for my mom, lift her medication tray with his mind? I’m not owed his secrets, it’s too early for that.”

“But?”

“But. Why didn't Liz advocate for Mimi with Max?”

Alex took another sip of coffee, fighting the urge to mediate again. “You need to ask Liz that, maybe she did and Max didn’t think it was worth the risk. It sucks, but that government conspiracy is real.” 

Maria turned, wrapping her arms around herself. “She’s had him wrapped around her finger since we were sixteen, so I'm struggling to understand it. It's just so frustrating that she was willing to drive with me to Texas to see some charlatan and never once mentioned, oh by the way my boyfriend can heal with his hand.”

“Maybe she felt like she couldn’t offer false hope. Again, talk to Liz before you get angry with her, just keep in mind though the loss of Max is very fresh.” He slipped off Michael’s jacket to return it to the back of the chair. “You know, even between best friends, we’re not owed every thought and every secret that we have.”

“You would say that.”

Alex stiffened, keeping an ear out for Michael. He had a sense of what was coming next. Over their long years of friendship, Maria had never reacted well to surprises. She had always relied too heavily on her intuition to guide her in Alex's opinion, so when she was caught flat-footed there were claws and teeth to her words. He braced himself to be a target. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

“It means I recognize the shirt that Guerin’s wearing and it’s pretty clear he didn’t sleep in that guest room last night.” Maria hissed softly, before stopping and pausing, marshaling her thoughts. “Listen, I get it, you’re staking your claim. I just wish I had known the whole story.”

With deliberate care he turned his back on her to refill his coffee cup. “You did have the whole story. You knew- you know how I feel about him.”

That was a point she couldn't argue. “I guess you’re right. I didn’t consider the possibility he was entirely full of shit when it came to you. I guess I was just a brief stop on your on-again off-again roller-coaster. I thought he was different, but he's like Chad was, he's using me as some placeholder-”

Alex glanced back toward the quiet interior of the cabin and lowered his voice to an icy whisper to cut her off. “I'm trying to hold onto our friendship Maria, because you are family, and I love you. But, I need you to never repeat that again. He’s a good person, he wasn’t using you to get back at me, or whatever you think. He just lost his mother, and he's grieving, but he's not trying to hurt you, or me. Listen, I know you’re probably angry about Rosa-”

“Rosa was my… She was special to me. For ten years people in this town shit on her and her memory, harassed Arturo. We've got a hate group in Roswell that recruits members because of that night, Alex. And it turns out it is all based on a lie? Rosa was innocent and they skated on their white privilege all to protect themselves, which I guess is the most human thing about them. It’s going to take a minute before I will be able to let that go.” 

“Maria, they didn’t really have a choice! There was an alien concentration camp not 100 miles from here waiting for them at the first mistake. My family hunts aliens, Michael's mom was rotting there for years, and let's not forget about my dad. He was a threat to them, right up until recently, okay? You think he wouldn't have put them all in cages that night if he had known the truth? At the end of the day, they’re just as much victims of Noah as Rosa was.”

“Our government puts humans in cages, they put babies in them, all the time. And this country puts brown and black bodies behind bars when they can't get away with shooting us in the streets, so don't talk to me about victim hood here. There’s a detention center even closer that Arturo could have ended up in with the type of scrutiny Rosa’s death brought. Max joined the police force, wears a badge to serve and protect but it's not you and me he wanted to protect, it was his white sister and brother -” Maria halted her stream of angry words, from a pain that was older and deeper than Rosa's "death". The pain of being a person of color in America, and in Roswell in particular. Alex wasn't unaware of the privilege the Evans and Michael still had when it came to law enforcement. “I guess there are just no good choices to be made here. I’m tired of the lies, even the ones you guys are telling yourselves-” She broke off again, as the sound of cowboy boots echoed on the wooden floors drawing nearer to the kitchen. 

“I’m ready,” Michael greeted, holding up the manila envelope that Alex had placed Rosa’s documents into with a wave. “What are you up to today?” he directed to Alex, seemingly immune to the heavy tension in the room. He gracefully shrugged into the jacket that Alex had inadvertently borrowed.

It took a moment for Alex to refocus on the question, with the simmer of anger still close to the surface. “I've got to be on base today, then I was going to swing by the hospital to see Kyle and Liz. He's got a broom closet of an office, and we're going to brainstorm lab space and resources. I think you were on that group text,” he reminded him lightly, noticing that Michael was still wearing the shirt that was behind the edge in Maria’s voice. Seeing Michael in his clothes was apparently a new and undiscovered kink for Alex. “If you finish work early, you should join.”

“We’ll see. I've got a brake job and then an old truck with electrical issues,” Michael commented off-hand, pouring some coffee into his travel mug. “Dinner is gonna be tacos though, as long as that meat is thawed.”

Maria was watching the domestic exchange, her mouth downcast but resigned without the bite of before. “Great? Are you two done? Rosa’s waiting, and after ten years, I really don’t want to waste anymore time.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ my tumblr](https://lambourngb.tumblr.com/) \- I cry about Malex all hours of the day.
> 
> Maura made a beautiful gif set to Michael's speech in the truck:
> 
>   
>   
>   
> 
> 
> For reblogging purposes ❤️ ❤️❤️  
> [It's not dna or stardust or carbon atoms... ](https://darlingnotso.tumblr.com/post/628099508650278912)


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you all for continuing to follow this story and share your thoughts afterward. I'm a little behind in replying, but just know I've read every note left and have spent a lot of time crying quietly in my office from how kind everyone is... much love to you all!

The perimeter alarm was louder than he expected, echoing off the turquoise mine walls and sending his heart racing.

Alex stood from the flimsy camp folding chair warily and gingerly placed his laptop to the side, where it was re-syncing the camera feeds after swapping out batteries. The typical solar charge kept the outdoor sensors running, but the Wi-Fi booster and secondary motion detector inside the cave required a personal visit once a week to replace. 

He fished out his phone in one hand to check the view, while the other loosened his gun from the holster. With a resigned sigh, he shut down the alert after he identified the visitor and secured his firearm. This was his third trip to the caves for electronic maintenance and so far he had managed to avoid running into Isobel.

This time he was not going to be so lucky.

It was hard to forget her loss of control at his cabin, exploding his hand rail after failing to control her emotions when the discussion turned to a painful topic like Noah. Sympathetically, Alex understood just how powerful trauma was as a trigger. However, he also couldn’t fail to notice there was a tension in Isobel that was directed solely toward him and his role in Michael’s life. In retrospect, her repeating what Michael had said about love, had been calculated to either hurt or remind Alex that she had the advantage with Michael. 

Maria had accused him, perhaps rightly, of staking his claim with Michael over the intimate way they were sharing the cabin. Alex would argue what she was seeing was the result of ten years in and out of bed with someone, where it was impossible not to have a level of familiarity, but perhaps that argument was weakened when he acknowledged that he had offered no protest when Michael borrowed his shirt. He couldn't deny how good it felt to have Michael turn to him for comfort finally, to trust that Alex would be there and he really couldn't hide the fact that Michael appearing to greet Maria with bedhead and his shirt was a small, and maybe petty message to send.

All was fair in love and in war.

Isobel, in contrast, had done her best to stake her claim on Michael through old-school emotional manipulation and he had to respect how effective her efforts were. 

With deliberate care, he plastered a pleasant expression on his face, and turned toward the entrance to greet her arrival. She was dressed impeccably again, with a thick cable knit sweater, a bulky wide belt, and a set of over the knee boots that emphasized her tall stature and slender legs. 

She also wore, but less believably, a smile when she caught sight of him. “Oh, look, my favorite fake brother-in-law, Alex Manes.”

“Hello Isobel. Nice to see you too.” Alex kept his face still, as he slowly returned to his seat and his laptop. “I’m just finishing up here, then I’ll let you have your privacy with Max.”

Isobel stopped in front of Max’s pod, and pressed her hand against the exterior, before turning toward the second covered pod with an overly gracious wave. “No need to leave for me, you can spend time with your father if you want.”

“How kind, but I’ll pass. I'm just here to ensure everything stays secure.” Alex tightened his lips at the mention of his father but ignored the jab. He knew that she did not have a full picture of whom Jesse Manes was, outside of a mastermind of alien prisoners and a respected member of Roswell. “Just pretend I’m not here.”

Isobel stroked Max’s pod with a light affectionate touch, before spinning on her expensively heeled boots to take a seat next to him. 

Alex kept his eyes on his screen, but his pulse picked up with the remembrance of her power and how she seemingly stared at the FBI agents to pluck secrets from their minds. More chilling was the way she held Michael and dipped into his mind first without permission, and then with a pronouncement. He was not sure if he would be aware of her mental rummaging, the way he had been during her deliberate linking of their minds to reach Michael at the sheriff’s office.

“You know, you can just ask me if you want to know something. You don’t have to read my thoughts.” Long practice of tense situations kept his voice offhand and even, despite his skin prickling at the back of his neck. 

“I suppose I could ask. For a human, you’re difficult to pick up on and read.” Isobel propped her chin into her hand, keeping her gaze on him. 

“Thank you.” 

“My husband was the same way. I never actively read him, but I realize in retrospect I never picked up on a stray thought either. He had a lot of secrets he kept locked down.” She didn’t blink as his hands stilled on the keyboard. “The more I use my abilities, the more I realize how unusual it is. I spent ten years never utilizing this gift and never questioning the people around me.”

There were several competing theories he had over Noah’s actions in the time he lived and killed within Roswell proper while being the visible ‘nice guy’, and a few of them revolved around the scarce details Alex had on the alien psychic abilities. The level of power Noah needed to remain hidden in Isobel’s mind, especially considering how intertwined Michael described her connection to Max, explained the body count in Roswell.

He wondered if Noah had made trips outside of Chaves County, hunting other humans that lived on the edges of society and below the notice of law enforcement. 

Regardless, Alex wondered if the ‘free fall’ of sadness that Michael mentioned, wasn’t the missing bond with her twin, but rather the absence of her ever-present abuser in her mind. It was probably a theory he should share with Michael first after the incident with the destroyed handrail. The last thing he needed was to experience a cave-in with Isobel and the body of his father floating in a pod. 

“I know I haven’t said it, but I am truly sorry that he did that to you. I don’t even have the words to describe the level of violation- I’m just so sorry,” Alex offered simply.

Isobel looked up and away, and then back to his face, before shrugging her shoulders. It was a disconcerting mirror image to how Michael reacted to emotionally painful subjects. Did she learn it from him or vice versa? “He’s dead, and I appreciate everyone wanting to be delicate- but I just want to move on from it.” 

“In my experience, in order to move on from anything, you have to acknowledge there’s something to move on from.”

“Thank you for therapy tips, Dr. Phil. I’ll keep that in mind.” Isobel’s smile was only slightly sharper than her words. Max Evans might be her twin, but Alex recognized not only did she mirror Michael’s facial expressions but also his defensive posturing. 

“You’re welcome.” Alex flashed his own shark smile in return. “Between having complex PTSD from trauma, lifelong anxiety which only worsened with encounters of systematic homophobia I might add, and oh right, losing my right leg to an insurgent’s IED,” He listed, ticking off each event on his fingertips mockingly. “I’ve logged a lot of hours on the therapist’s couch, Isobel. I’m more than happy to share my insights with you.” 

As with most people who were treated to a too-honest account of his history, Isobel sat back in the chair, at a temporary loss for words.

Alex glanced back down to his computer and started to run the diagnostics. He was still acutely aware of Isobel next to him, watching him closely. After a moment, she broke the silence with a cultivated question, “All right, I would like your insight on something. On love.”

Well, he did walk into that ambush, he thought wryly. “I’m no expert on that.”

“ _Oh_ I know, but I can hardly cast any stones myself since I managed to love a mind-raping murderous sociopath who wanted to trade me and my family for safe passage.”

That was a lot when she laid it out like that, her own too-honest account of history meant to disarm. Despite the friction between them, Alex recognized he and Isobel had a lot more in common than just Michael. If she didn’t want sympathy from him, the least he could do was try. He softened his defenses and turned toward her with a lifted eyebrow. “What would you like to know?”

“Michael considers love this all powerful, uncontrollable force, that moves through the universe. He says we’re just objects pulled in on the journey, bending to its path without care of consequence,” Isobel scoffed dismissively, “Which all sounds like an excuse to me to say we’re not responsible for what we do. So what’s your take on this, Alex Manes? Free will or out of our control?”

Of course Michael with his love of the cosmos and focus on the universal laws of physics would see love as a constant, acting on objects, with only trajectory as a variable. The poetic and scientific married together.

“Can’t it be both?” His thoughts lingered on her mention of Michael’s thesis on love and started to coalesce around a conclusion in a similar vein. “It’s like how light is a particle but behaves like a wave, love is a similar force. We have no control over the feeling, but how we treat people is a different matter.”

Isobel’s smile widened, losing the innocent nature that offered the question in the first place. “So how we treat people we love is under our control? Interesting.”

The feeling of having walked into an ambush only heightened for Alex.

“You love Michael.” 

“I do. You know I do.” Alex swallowed, his patience on the subject matter was rapidly fading. “I’m guessing we’re about to come to the point in the conversation where you question my commitment here. You haven’t been subtle, Isobel.”

Isobel shrugged, "I wasn’t trying to be. Can you blame me? You’re his biggest protector now, he’s relying on you to keep him safe.”

“And I will. You don’t have to worry, his safety is my top priority,” Alex replied with absolute certainty. 

Isobel leaned in, as if she was tracking a wounded prey to finish off. “What about his happiness? Where does that fall in your mission objectives?”

Alex frowned. He understood now where her enmity was rooted, not in how Michael was with him, but rather, how he was with Michael. “Can you love someone and not care about their happiness?”

“That’s what I’m getting at. How we treat the people we love is under our control, that’s what you said, right? You’ve made him very miserable over the years, blowing into town to fuck him, blowing out of town to fuck with him.” She turned away to stare at Max’s pod, letting him absorb those barbs silently. “Max was clueless about you. He thought Michael had some sort of puppy love from high school and put you on a pedestal like Liz. Sacred and untouched. Except, I was the one who noticed the increased drinking, the fights, they always followed a pattern of your trips to Roswell.”

There it was. The crux of her tension with him, banked into submission, when she needed his commitment to save Michael and roused to life with her experience that it was just a matter of time before he left Michael again. As Michael said, the definition of insanity was doing the same thing and expecting a different response and Isobel expected his response to be abandonment or retreat. 

“I’m aware I’ve made mistakes, but my overseas postings were non-negotiable. I never wanted to leave him.”

“And your secrecy? Why was that non-negotiable back then? I’ve been in your head, Alex. ‘Cause that’s my memory of you during the last ten years. This roller-coaster of secrets and lies.” Isobel shrugged, her words sharpened like a questing set of claws, digging into his mistakes. Time-travel was beyond Alex's reach, he just had to learn to bear the weight of his errors, though he hardly wanted to thank Isobel for the reminder. “Up, up, up, and down, down, down, and Michael always left behind.”

“I’m not planning on going anywhere this time, Isobel.” Mercifully his scans completed with the integrity of the connection strong between the mines and his cabin server base. “I know you're re-evaluating everything you knew about your life because of Noah, but you don’t have to worry about me. I'm not about to repeat a mistake I've made in the past.” He closed his laptop and slid it back into his bag. Perhaps at another time he could attempt to share the common ground they had together regarding the legacy of trauma. How her retreat into the hypoxic life as an Instagram perfect woman was just as stifling as the closet Alex had retreated in for safety while his father roamed Roswell. That day, with its extended hand, was not today as he couldn't help but leave a parting barb of his own, “You should consider doing the same.”

The walls of the cave showed deep scars, remnants of the avarice-fueled extraction of one valuable mineral, with the useless ore piled around in discarded heaps. There was more waste product produced in scouring the veins, than actual beneficial material produced. Once emptied of use, the walls had to be reinforced with heavy beams that aged over time to keep the collapse at bay.

It was too depressing to consider love being treated in a similar manner.

His heart though, showed similar pits and pocks, where he’d dug out the useful parts, and attempted sloughing off the detris of failures, until they were stacked in dizzying heights all around. Good intentions, propping up where he’d hollowed himself out, and tried to make himself valued and of use, kept him going these days. 

“And what mistake do you think I'm repeating?” 

“I have my own memory of your relationship with Michael,” Alex couldn’t help but note to her. “Granted, I didn’t know you were siblings at that time, but now that I do, those ten years aren’t a good look for you, either. He lived in a trailer, while you and Max had brick and mortar walls.” 

“And you blame me for that. Nice. I love my brother-”

“Intentions matter, remember? Just so you know until I learned the truth about Rosa, I blamed myself for he lives, not daring to believe he deserves better, and some days, I still do.” Alex stood, grimacing a bit at the pull on his prosthesis from the cheap chair. “He has sacrificed a lot for your happiness, and he is still doing it since he is the main suspect in Noah’s case. You should stop questioning his commitment to saving you and Max.”

Isobel looked down, her face flashing the pink of discomfort.

“That was the first week he spent in a real home, being cared for, and you attacked him for not doing enough for _you_. And I know, I can’t begin to understand what you went through with Noah, the loss you feel because of Max,” Alex continued, his voice striving to be kind, “But don’t take it out on Michael. Whatever you think of me, just know I have always loved him, since I was 17 and I tried to give him a safe place to go that wasn’t his truck and a sleeping bag.” He paused at the mouth of the entrance, and glanced over to the covered pod that held his father to firm his resolve. “I’m 28 now, and I’m still trying to give him a safe place to be. So do with that what you will.”

* * *

Alex actively attempted to shake the nettled feelings that Isobel stirred up as he drove back to the cabin. His phone was quiet, so he knew Michael was likely still at Sanders's, or at least on his way back home for dinner. He had a bit of time to shed the mood he found himself in before he saw Michael.

He did not need Isobel to remind him about all the ways he had messed up in the past, as there was nothing wrong with his memory, nor did he need her questioning his commitment to keeping Michael out of harm's reach. Throwing the past in his face was rather irritating to him when he considered she was not without her own sins.

Michael had passed on college, took menial jobs, and lived on the remote edges of society all to play some sort of role of protector for Isobel. At least when Alex had accepted the role of protector, he’d made sure that Michael had a real roof over his head, safety, and company if Michael wanted it.

Once he arrived back at the cabin, he managed a twenty-minute honest attempt at his data decryption before giving it up as a lost cause in the wake of his circling thoughts. The aftermath of confrontation, his therapist had helped him identify the ways he used anxiety in both positive and negative ways. It was fine to be reflective, it was unhealthy to stew in regret.

Helpfully his mind was taking him through all the small and large ways he was a failure.

A cursory daily check on the law enforcement database did little to settle his nerves. There was no sign of completed laboratory results on Hank Gibbons or word of a found body like Noah. The investigation was still going strong three weeks later, with no sign of a solution or exoneration. 

Alex turned his phone face down and started for the kitchen, in hopes of finding some task for distraction. This counter was scruplessly clean, no signs of the breakfast dishes or pans that Michael had used that morning to prepare the best huevos rancheros that Alex had ever tasted. The shy but pleased smile that Michael flashed whenever his food was complimented had Alex falling deeper every day.

His thoughts juxtaposed Isobel, reciting his legacy of leaving Michael and letting him down over and over again, with Michael carrying out small but thoughtful tasks around the cabin.

Michael found him in the kitchen still when he arrived back to the cabin, staring at the closed refrigerator door intently. “Oh look, it’s my terrible wife, slacking again. Home from a long, annoying day at the garage to find nothing made for dinner.” He fluttered his fingers in front of Alex’s face, before knocking his fist against the counter as his smile faded. “I’m the telekinetic alien, so if you’re trying to make dinner with your brain, it’s not going to work.”

Alex wrenched his attention to Michael at the sound of knocking, and focused sluggishly. “Oh, hey.”

“Hey yourself. Are you okay?”

“I’m fine. Just-” Alex anchored himself in seeing Michael’s concerned but tired face. His swirling thoughts calmed, centering on the soft curl that dipped down his forehead, brushing at the edges of Michael’s warm gold eyes. “I’m not really in the mood to cook, do you want to do dinner out?”

Michael glanced at the closed refrigerator, frowning vaguely. “Are you sure? I don’t mind cooking if you want to rest.”

“I don’t want to rest. I want to go out to dinner. With you. I could take you to Tinnie’s, it’s close by, and not as far as driving into Roswell.” Alex looked down at his plain black jeans and long sleeved Henley critically, before deciding he was dressed nicely enough for a roadside steakhouse. “It’s not fancy, jeans are fine.”

Still hesitating, Michael paused to study Alex’s face in turn. It was as if he was looking for an angle or motive behind the invitation, which reignited the calmed storm in Alex’s brain. Ten years of secrecy had a price that he was paying even now.

“Okay, let me wash up then, and we can go.”

It occurred to him while he was waiting at the door of the cabin while Michael changed from a work shirt and washed his face clean of the garage grime, that this was the final piece missing from their sham production of a relationship and domesticity, dinner out together in what an outsider might mistake as a date.

* * *

The hostess greeted them both at the counter, flashing white teeth around a bright red lipstick smile. She was more than conventionally pretty, her service smile widening into a genuine one as she gave both Alex and Michael a once over. Alex could not help but shove his fists deep into his jacket pockets, instinctively backing away from an appreciative female glance the way he had done all his life.

Michael in the meantime, sauntered up to the counter and smiled devilishly under his hat. “Evening.”

“Good evening!” She chirped back, as a small blush warmed her cheeks. “Welcome to Tinnie’s, is it just you two gentlemen or are we expecting others to join you tonight?” Her long black braid swung down her back as she turned her head with a casual flip to open up the reservation book. 

Michael swept his black cowboy hat off with a flirtatious flourish. “Just the two of us tonight, ma’am.” 

The hostess with a tag marked, Jennifer, blushed deeper at Michael’s charm. Alex glanced upward toward the ceiling, stifling a sigh. Seemingly suddenly aware of his presence, she handed off a pair of menus to an approaching server briskly. “Well, thank you for stopping in, Marcus will be your server tonight. Let him, or I know if you need anything.”

Alex fastidiously removed his hands from his pockets to follow Michael and their server quietly into the quaint home style restaurant. The bright, cheerful atmosphere that he remembered from his lunchtime stops had wholly changed over into dim lighting, candles on tables and more than a few of the clientele were clearly enjoying a romantic night out. 

Nervously he looked over at Michael as they were escorted into an intimate booth. 

Was this crossing a line, considering there was no one to pretend in front of for the sake of law enforcement? He had already selfishly enjoyed the work of building a friendship with Michael that this farce had provided him, just based on sharing the same space. Sharing a low-light dinner together felt greedy. However, if he backed away, would he just be reinforcing the idea that he did not want to be seen with Michael? A call back to that ten-year roller-coaster that Isobel had alluded to in the cave?

His brain responded on autopilot with a ‘thank you’ as the waiter left them with menus. 

“Relax,” Michael advised, looking over at him from his menu. “We’re not the only ones in jeans here, so you can unclench.”

Alex grabbed at his water glass, wetting his dry throat and forced himself to smile weakly in return. “Right. Looks a bit different from the lunchtime set up.” 

Michael shook his head before looking back down to the menu. “You won’t give me shit if I use the wrong fork, right? This is about several degrees above the Crashdown or Mario’s food truck.”

“What makes you think I know the difference?” 

“I guess that’s true since you said you didn’t date much.” Michael’s considering look changed as the waiter approached, shifting back into the type of smile he had gifted the hostess. It was apparently irrespective of gender, as their male waiter Marcus refilled the water glasses before setting the pitcher down to pull out his order pad. “Thanks, man. I think I'm going to get the prime rib, medium, with potatoes.”

Marcus paused, his face painted in a polite but confused smile, “So nothing to drink then?”

Immediately Michael shifted in embarrassment, and coughed slightly to cover. “Shit, um, sorry, yes. I'll have a Budweiser.”

Alex met the expectant look from Marcus easily, and returned the menu with a poised answer. “Same for me.” He waited until the waiter departed, before nudging Michael’s foot with his kindly in reassurance. Absently he glanced around the restaurant again, marking the exits out of habit before returning his gaze across the table.

“Guess you can tell I didn’t date either. Not that this is a date. I mean-” 

He nudged Michael’s foot even more firmly. It was an effort, but he pushed down his anxiety, seeing just how nervous and out of sorts Michael was in the environment. They were both skittish in this setting, however he owed it to him to ease his discomfort. The past ledger of his missed opportunities weighed heavily on his mind. “I know what you mean. It’s okay. We’re both foreigners here. Relax.”

“I’m an idiot, of course he wanted the drink order first.”

“There’s no rule that says you can’t order food before a beverage,” Alex replied, and glanced toward the kitchen, marking the movement of the doors.

Michael smiled weakly at the encouragement. He followed Alex’s gaze around the dining area, and tilted his head in invitation. “See anyone you know?”

“Oh, um, no, sorry,” Alex apologized, caught out by the question. “I’m seated with my back to the main part of the room. It puts me on edge.”

An unreadable look passed over Michael’s face. Marcus returned with two glasses and two bottles before Alex could follow up. Once the beers were poured and the waiter disappeared again, the frozen drawn look had vanished with just a bland look in its place. “We can switch places.”

“No, it’s okay. I would rather my bad leg be on the inside.”

Michael nodded wordlessly, before looking down at the table. A silence descended over the table. The rest of the diners joining them in the room were engaged in quiet, intimate chatter between the couples, with the sound of silverware clinking in between the wordless background buzz.

“This isn’t exactly what I pictured. Actually, wait, maybe it is exactly how I pictured this going with you.” Michael sighed, unfolding his silverware roll with deliberate care. 

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I don’t think it’s the seating arrangement or your leg that’s got you on edge. We've only been to two places in public together, the drive-in last summer and the grocery store and you were pretty weird both times. So is it me?” He placed both hands on the table, licking his lower lip nervously.

Alex exhaled slowly, forcing himself to release the tension in his shoulders. Spiraling in his head would not help him here and only prove Isobel right in questioning his motives and his commitment. “Sorry. It's not you. This is definitely me.”

“You sure? We’re friends now, so if you’re ashamed to be seen with me, or whatever, you can tell me.” Michael lifted the corner of his mouth with a self-deprecating glint. “I promise not to get mad.”

“What! No, no, Guerin. Honestly? I am still getting used to crowds again. Maria has mirrors at the Pony, so I can usually deal there. This is just dumb hyper-vigilance.” Alex picked up his glass and took a long swallow of beer, barely masking his distaste for the flavor of the cheap brew. “Believe it or not, my therapist would call this an improvement.”

“You see a shrink?” Michael asked, and then seemingly reading the flinch from Alex, he rushed to finish, “that’s cool! I mean, I'm jealous. I've got enough crap in my head, I probably could use the help.” He rubbed at his left hand, bare of the bandanna wrap. Alex noticed he only tended to hide the healed evidence when he was sure to encounter the typical residents of Roswell.

“I started seeing one at the VA, after my leg. Once I knew I was heading back here near my dad again, I set something up remotely.” Alex forced himself to meet Michael’s gaze. Perhaps it was the candle burning between them, the symbol of every idiotic romantic dinner out, that vanquished some of his nerves. “It does help, but it didn’t keep me from screwing things up. With you.” 

Michael turned away toward the other quiet diners, his lips twisting in pain. “We don’t have to talk about that.”

“I want to. I mean, I think we should.” Alex leaned into the table space, lowering his voice earnestly. “We’ve talked about the shed, and um, my dad. And I know I hurt you this summer, at the drive in, and then later-”

“Alex, stop. It’s fine, okay? It’s in the past.” Michael rubbed his fingers against the wet condensation on his beer glass, avoiding Alex’s eyes. 

“Is it? You just said you thought I was ashamed to be seen with you.”

Mercifully or not, their waiter Marcus appeared, carrying a tray with two sizzling prime rib platters to the table. Alex was not sure if he had overheard the conversation but judging from the vaguely embarrassed tension and pasted on smile, he was guessing the waiter did. 

He held a smile through the niceties, and waited until they were alone again to pick up the conversation. Michael kept his eyes down, picking up his knife and fork to delicately carve with precise concentration a section of the steak off. Alex bit his lower lip, and reached across the table to him. “Guerin…”

That triggered Michael to look up with a blazing anger in his eyes as he suddenly replaced his cutlery to the table, abandoning his attempt at dinner. “What good does it do to talk about this? I'm not real interested in another round of apologies for ancient history that we can’t erase.”

“I don’t know. I just wanted you to know that I regret how I treated you. You didn't deserve it. This shouldn’t be the first time we've been in a nice restaurant together.” Alex watched as Michael’s abrupt rush of anger faded back into what was starting to feel like the default expression of confused sadness. 

“You weren’t ready for that back then, and I get it.” Michael cautiously picked up his fork again, poking at his steak. “If you want to talk about regret, we should talk about how I treated you. Let’s talk about all the times I pushed you past your comfort zone and then got mad at you because you didn’t love me in the same way I loved you. I was a real dick to you too, especially when you were home on leave.”

Alex blinked past the sudden well of tears. 

He continued, gesturing airily with his knife in emphasis. “That’s what you said, right? You would walk, but I gave you plenty of reasons to go. Let’s face it, back then, I wouldn’t have wanted you to stay because it would have meant violating that important facet of a relationship, right? Honesty. Telling you my secret.” 

This was what he had always suspected that lay at the root of his failure with Michael. The mismatch in timing. The fact he had failed to show his heart in a way that could be understood.

“We both made mistakes back then, Alex. I don’t wanna dwell on the past, I just consider myself lucky you didn’t die during your combat tour after one of our fights. Because this shit? I can move on from, but not that.” Michael picked up his beer to finish off the glass and then gestured to a passing waiter for another. “Now can we just agree to leave the past in the past tonight and eat this amazing steak before it gets cold?”

Swallowing hard, pushing down the renewed sense of disappointment, Alex picked up his fork to start in on his meal. “Sure. Um, how’s Maria doing? I haven’t heard from her much since-”

Michael groaned in an aggrieved frustration. “Busy with Rosa is the word from Liz. She wants space after the big reveal. We’re still in this limbo, I guess. It’s a popular state to be in with me.” He sawed off another piece of steak, before his lips lifted in a knowing smile. “How was Isobel today? I understand you guys ran into each other at the cave.”

Alex winced, remembering the sharp exchange of words in front of Max’s pod over his failure with Michael over the years and all the ways Alex had let him down. “She seems fine, but generally annoyed at my presence in Roswell, I think. I don’t know, I thought we worked well together when they first picked you up for questioning.”

“That’s before she realized Max was gone. Those two are like a binary star system. When one disappears, the other is completely out of whack. Max was extra annoying when she was in a pod too. Guess it’s her turn now.” He chewed thoughtfully. “Don’t worry, she’s been in your head. She knows you mean well.”

“I don’t know about that.”

Michael looked up from his plate, his gaze sharpening on Alex. “Wait a second, what happened?”

“It’s nothing. I was changing out the surveillance system batteries, and she wasn’t expecting to see me.” 

“Yeah, I got that part when she called me on my way home from Sanders's, she mentioned seeing you and then told me she missed me.” Michael’s gaze went inward, recounting the conversation and his memory of the day with a thoughtful frown. “I found you spaced out in front of the fridge. What did she say to you, exactly?”

“We just agreed to leave the past in the past, so I don’t want to get into it about what Isobel and I discussed. I will just say, we are still working out our communication issues, and leave it at that.” Alex shifted uncomfortably, pushing his fork through the roasted bits of potato on his plate. 

“I am going to kill her.”

“I’m fine. I can take it.” 

Michael shook his head tiredly, “Well you shouldn’t have to and I never- I mean, she knows one very small, very tiny piece of our past. She doesn't know the whole thing. My bullshit is not on you.”

“It’s nothing I didn’t already suspect. Seriously, I’m fine.” Alex forced himself to smile, pushing down all evidence of his turmoil. “Tell me about Sanders's. Did you have to fix some dealership's fuck up today like you had to last week?”

A distressed look crossed Michael’s face before he sighed, and picked up the offered subject change reluctantly to launch into a story about squealing brakes and pads that were installed inside out by a big dealer service center.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update tomorrow afternoon!


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There is a mention of a past war crime/Caulfield discussion in this. Specific notes to the warning are at the end!

From the outside, Sunset Mesa Assisted Living and Memory Care of Roswell looked similar to a resort clubhouse. It was a sprawling two-story facility that spread out into sweeping wings with bright red roof tiles and Spanish arches. Only the glaring lack of a golf course kept it from being mistaken as a leisure destination to a passer-by. 

Since Maria had transferred the care of Mimi there, Alex had been making a point to visit at least twice a month. His first visit had coincided with being on base, and while the uniform had garnered admiring glances from the staff, Mimi had spent the afternoon addressing him as “Jesse”. His skin crawling, he had made a note to carry spare clothes for any subsequent visit. 

He had spent his childhood and teenage years borrowing mother figures from his friends, ever since he was 8 and his mother had left. First Michelle Valenti, licking the cinnamon sugar off his fingertips when she offered her homemade hojarascas to him and then when Kyle had turned from friend to foe in high school, he had embraced Maria’s mother with her warm hugs and bold insistence on being himself, no matter who that ended up being. Mimi holding him tight, whispering in his ear that this was temporary, all the while he felt so isolated and alone that falling asleep and never waking was an attractive option, meant the world to him. It was not an exaggeration that he had considered harming himself at the ages of 14 and 15. It would have been entirely too easy with firearms readily available in his father’s house, never far from reach. 

For that alone, Alex would do whatever he could for Mimi. 

He scrawled his name in the visitor log, noting the frequency of Maria’s name above his. A pang of regret held him close as he thought about how complicated that friendship had become. It had once been the rare source of consistency in his transient life. Alex looked up at the charge nurse with a smile. “How is Mimi today, Delores?”

“About the same, although thankfully she has stopped leaving glasses of water on every table and window sill in the day room.” Delores met his confused smile with a shrug, “Someone showed her ‘Signs’.”

“I thought alien related films were banned from movie night?”

“We had a new hire. They didn’t know, so for a while it was water, water everywhere with Ms Deluca. We’re back to Will Smith now, which I can deal with because that man is fine.” Delores took the guest book and gestured to the day room. “She’ll be glad to see you.”

Alex forced a smile and walked over to the brightly lit and cheerfully painted day room. As nice as Sunset Mesa was, and it was very nice compared to his experience with VA hospitals, it was still a place where families hauled themselves there out of obligation and their elderly relatives drifted like gray ghosts in the hallways.

Mimi Deluca was the outlier, at least thirty years younger than the youngest resident. She was never combatant, and helped the staff when she could with the other patients. At a glance a newcomer would mistake her as a volunteer, except for the fact she wore slippers instead of the orthopedic shoes popular with the nurses. 

As soon as he drew near to her, she stood up from the soft overstuffed love-seat in the corner with a beaming smile, “Alex! Come here hot stuff and give me a hug.”

Alex mirrored her smile and wrapped his arms around her, solemnly noting she felt thinner in his embrace. “Mama Deluca!”

“My, married life is treating you well.” She patted his stomach teasingly. Her hands were bare of jewelry but still elegantly straight fingered and absent from age spots. “That husband of yours is feeding you well.”

A sharp pain radiated inside, as he kept his smile intact. Mimi, instead of mistaking him for Jesse, had started commenting on being married to a handsome man, and it coincided heartrendingly with his first visit after Michael had moved in. It was easier and harder just to go with it. “Are you calling me fat?”

Mimi beamed, and pulled him down to the love seat. “Never, honey.”

The rest of the day room was largely quiet, with a group of residents staring at the flat screen television showing old game shows in the background. Mimi took his hand, and held it closely. Her hair was resplendent as usual, cascading down her shoulders. 

Alex remembered from his original research for Maria that Sunset Mesa had sported a salon with someone on staff who knew the proper care and treatment of black hair, and every visit he had made had so far borne that as true. “You look beautiful as always, Mimi. How are you feeling?”

“I’m fine, honey, can’t complain. But you, you are such a mix of happiness and stress. You know you will worry less once all the secrets are out.” Mimi lifted her finger to press on his forehead, forcing him to smooth his expression at the teasing touch. 

“Secrets?”

“The pieces want to be together, Alex, and that goes for the truth.”

He shivered at the repetition, but it was not unusual. Mimi had often picked up repeated sentences from old conversations. Hearing her repeat Michael’s steady words from his bunker was still disconcerting. “You know I can’t talk about my work.”

“Hmmm. Now you sound like your father, but I wasn’t talking about that.” She smiled again and then put her arm around Alex, encouraging him to tuck into her side like he used to do as a teenager. “Tell me about your husband.”

“Michael’s fine. We went to Tinnie’s the other night. You would have loved our waiter.”

“He was hot?”

“So hot. Looked like he stepped out of a J Crew catalog.” 

Mimi laughed, delighted at the description. “You're making that up. I don’t believe you even noticed what that waiter looked like, too busy staring star struck at your hubby.”

“I plead the fifth.” Alex smiled, holding her hand in his with an affectionate squeeze. “He’s been busy at the garage, and I’ve started back at the base again until my commission is finished.”

“Work, work, work, Alex. It’s good you did dinner out together, you should keep making these efforts with each other. I'm telling you, things have a way of working out, without your intervention. Just stick all your troubles in the vessel. It knows what to do.”

Alex tensed in her hold, tipping his head up to meet her gaze. As he suspected, she was not focused on him at all. “Vessel?”

“The ships, Alex. They weren’t just for moving from point A to point B. And what is distance but a state of mind?” Mimi threaded their fingers together, admiring the differing skin tones with a hazy joy. “These hands, the intent is what matters, for ill or for will. For better or worse.”

He closed his eyes briefly and summoned an even tone to keep her calm. Sometimes the talk of aliens, real or not, could send her into an agitated spiral. “I've tried to keep my intentions pure.”

Mimi laughed again, “Don’t con a psychic, love. I was young once. Sex is still one of the best uses of our earthly forms.”

The conversation, like usual with Mimi, had slipped wholly out of his control. His cheeks reddened in embarrassment. “I am not discussing that with you, Mama Deluca.”

Unexpectedly, her head shot up to stare toward the door of the day room. “Oh. Oh, my sweet Maria. She’s breaking her heart again. Unrequited love is such a sharp blade to kiss.”

Alex twisted to look over through the doorway half expecting to see Maria standing there. The hallway was empty, just Delores behind the check in desk. He frowned, a little concerned at the look of sorrow on Mimi’s face. “It might not be? Unrequited that is.”

“You can change your hair, you can change your name, but you can’t change your heart, Alex.” She sighed again, “Aliens might be able to, they have that type of power, you know. The vessel will hold you tight and make you someone else. It’s a change that is so complete you’re remade.” She traced circles on the back of his hand. “But this town has had enough of that type of whitewashing. When you think about it, it doesn’t matter what is buried or planted, some flowers will never bloom in Roswell.”

Alex nodded thoughtfully, and noticed the flash of dark hair and bright clothing just outside the doorway at the front desk. Just as Mimi predicted, Maria was here, chatting warmly with Delores as she signed the book. “I should go, it looks like Maria is here too. You’re a popular woman today, not that it isn’t surprising.” He kissed her hand sweetly, and shifted to his feet, feeling the stretch on his right hip. “I love you, Mimi.”

“I love you too, Alex. You should bring that husband next time. I promise not to steal him from you.” Mimi winked devilishly at him. “Not that anyone could. He’s been yours forever.”

He shook his head, pressing the sharp knot of want down deep inside. “I’ll keep that in mind.” Alex turned, hoping to escape from the day room exit before Maria caught sight of him. 

Despite his best intentions, he still did not know how to treat Maria even if part of him longed to close the distance that sprouted between them. Her betrayed frustration regarding aliens, and Michael in particular sat, uncomfortably between them. From his observations, Michael’s phone was quieter in the evenings, and with someone usually waiting for him at home, Alex rarely lingered in town for a drink at the Wild Pony anymore. It wasn’t avoidance. It was just an acknowledgment of the 45-minute drive, he told himself.

He slipped smoothly away to the outside door, before he heard Maria’s voice behind him, catching as he started away from the building, “Alex!”

The temptation to keep walking was there, except he was trying to be a better person these days. If he could face Isobel in a cave where his father was, he could face Maria. Alex pasted a pleasant smile on his face before turning around. “Maria, hi. I just finished visiting Mimi. She looks good today and is aware of the present.”

Maria shifted awkwardly before firming her stance. Her black faux fur jacket puffed out as she crossed her arms, then seemingly catching herself in the defensive posture, she dropped her arms to her side. Her bright red lipstick, the subtle influence of Rosa back in her life, shining between them as she mirrored his pleasant smile. “Good, I’m glad. I hope you didn’t leave on my account.”

“Of course not.” 

“Right.”

They both looked at each other, as a pause spread between them. Maria sighed, and tucked a perfectly coiffed curl behind her ear, “Good. You don’t have to avoid me.”

“I wasn’t.” Alex pursed his lips, before squinting a little in the late afternoon sun. “How have you been? I haven’t seen you since-“

“Since Guerin spilled the-”

“Yes, that,” Alex cut her off tightly, looking around them warily. “I hope you’re not still angry at him.”

Maria shrugged lightly. “I haven’t banned him from the bar, if that’s what you mean.” She lifted her eyebrow, and observed, “Of course he hasn’t been back since and once upon a time, you used to stop in too.”

He ignored the guilt that spiked at her reminder. “Since you know what’s going on, you know we’ve got our hands busy trying to help Liz. And Isobel.” Alex pivoted on his prosthesis to turn away. “I'll let you get back to your visit with Mimi. It’s nice to see you, Maria.”

He made it ten feet down the sidewalk toward his Explorer, when he heard the staccato sounds of Maria’s heeled boots coming up behind him. “Alex, wait,” she called. He stopped, but did not turn around, instead he pulled out his sunglasses to hide his eyes behind.

“I backed off from Guerin, told him I needed some time and space from him while I get my head around what they all did to Rosa. The way things looked at your cabin, all cozy like, I thought that would make you happy,” Maria stated straight-forwardly, taking in his closed posture and mirrored lenses with a ghost of confused hurt. “You said you didn’t want to let him get in the way of our friendship.”

“I don’t, and Michael won't get in the way of our friendship, Maria because ultimately this is about what he wants, who he wants. It doesn't matter if he wears my shirt or not, if he just wants to stay friends with me. I do have I just have one question for you,” Alex asked in an undertone, “was it easy for you to do? To back off of him and leave him floundering about what's next for you guys?”

Maria looked down, a crease of embarrassment joining the confusion wrinkling her face. 

“Hmmm… I thought so. I don't want to tell you what to do or how to feel, or that you're not allowed space to process, but think about what his options were back then? And think about maybe why he was slow to tell you now, because it was not easy for him to tell you the truth about himself. In fact, that night he was terrified you would see him as a freak. Now you’re reinforcing that with space?” The memory of how fragile Michael was, completely wasted on alcohol, but needing to feel something other than alone was something Alex could not forget. Abandonment and attachment trauma were achingly obvious to see in everything Michael did, and then when Alex paired it with the resignation that Michael had over the radio silence from Maria, it was hard to reconcile it in his mind as acceptable.

He had made his own mistakes with Michael. Taking time himself to process after Michael had shown him everything in the bunker, had been a mistake in retrospect that was only compacted later at Caulfield. He wasn't sure why he was trying to keep Maria from making the same mistake, but then again being selfish when someone else was in pain felt antithetical to Alex.

“I don’t care about what he is, that’s not the reason I’m taking time away from him. Not that it’s any of your business,” she argued to him. Her face took on the intent expression that Alex was familiar with that came with her psychic readings of people. “You’re angry, but what are you most angry about? That I’m pushing him away while I deal with what happened with Rosa? Or are you angry that I’m doing the same thing you did, only he understands it with me, and he didn’t with you.”

The hit landed cleanly, and it was Alex’s turn to look down.

“You’re probably right,” he acknowledged, his throat tight with regret and loss. “This time it’s you who kissed him into crazy, stupid, love, and I am angry that you don’t seem to appreciate it.” Alex rubbed at the back of his neck, the awkwardness sinking down his throat to settle heavily into his chest. “I don’t know if I’m angry at you, at him, or myself. It’s probably all of the above.”

“Listen, I’m a psychic, I know more than anyone how hard it is to make sense of feelings. I don’t want him to be a block that’s always between us.” 

“I’ve always considered _you_ family, Maria. I love you, and I know that isn't going to change, however this all ends, but you have to admit, this is complicated. For me. And trying to look past it and pretend that it isn't awkward, is hard.”

“I know it's awkward. It is for me too, especially now. I’m still reeling from getting Rosa back. The hole she left when she died, I thought it would kill me. I tried to fill it over the years with the bar, with my friendships, and even with Guerin, and I became this stranger to myself. The fun friend, always there with a shoulder to cry on for everyone and-” Maria stopped, pressing her lips together on the words. "That really isn't who I am, or who I was back then and Rosa knows that. 'Cause she’s back, she's asking me all these questions about what the hell am I doing with my life, why has it all revolved around taking care of everyone but not myself- And I don't regret sacrificing for my mom, but everything else? It all seemed to fit perfectly together, but now it's being reshuffled. I’m still fitting the pieces together, okay? I don’t know what the final picture even looks like, but Rosa has reminded me that I had dreams before outside of the bar.” She shaded her eyes in the sun, and continued. “I’m actually relieved that this alibi farce happened. I don’t know what I would have done if I found out about Rosa after I was in deep with Guerin. It’s good that we were forced to put on the brakes.”

There was a familiarity of how Maria spoke about Rosa that suddenly clicked into place. Alex thought back to high school, a subject he usually left buried, and viewed the memories of how close the two girls were. Forever sneaking up to the rooftop together with an intimacy that was fastened together with more than just the secret of pot smoking and pilfered vodka from the bar. 

“Were you in love with Rosa?” he blurted out thoughtlessly, as the clues started to stack together.

Maria froze in response.

“You were. Are. And…does Michael know that, Maria? It’s not that Noah killed her, or that Michael helped cover it up that has you with second thoughts. It’s your feelings for someone else.” Alex waited for a moment before nodding to himself at her conflicted silence. “I guess we have that in common. A love triangle.”

“Alex- wait, that’s not-”

“You should tell him the real score-”

“Why? She doesn’t feel the same way!” Maria finished, cutting him off. She bit her lower lip, before continuing gently, “Even if she did, she’s nineteen still. So, as it turns out, we don’t have that in common because there’s no triangle there with Rosa and Guerin. Just me, in the middle, trying to figure things out.”

The middle was crowded real estate, both of them trying to find a safe path between friendship, love, and family. Alex wanted more than anything, a map pointing the way, except what he had was just a compass, with the needle always pointing toward Michael.

He dug out his keys to fiddle with in the tense space between them. “I gotta get back home and see what sort of dinner my alibi farce is making us. Give my best to Rosa.”

***

“I don’t know if we can reverse engineer your serum to rebuild cells-”

“Ha, not with a set of high school grade pipettes and a 1500x compound microscope, we can’t.”

“Hey, if I’m working on getting some equipment, but I can’t just steal a mass spectrometer from the pathology lab and expect no one to notice. That active shooter and the mysterious fire has the whole place on heightened security.”

“Well I don’t know how I’m going to come up with a solution if I don’t have the tools or resources to use. It's not like I can cook up some alien renewal serum in my dad’s kitchen.”

Kyle leaned back against a sturdy white cabinet that lined the wall of the garage. In the interests of avoiding scrutiny, Alex had advised against meeting at the Project Shepherd bunker or anywhere near Isobel’s house. With the Crashdown, the scene of tourist foot traffic, the only option left was Kyle’s townhouse. 

The townhouse was part of a new, ultra-modern group of recent construction designed to lure younger professionals to Roswell. High-end furnishings with no outside maintenance, was popular with the growing skilled worker population pulled in by the new Air Force base construction out by Fosters Homestead Ranch. 

The garage was gleaming and bright, with shiny high gloss floors that would look more at home at an art gallery than a place where someone would park their car. Kyle had set up a large whiteboard in the middle of the garage, and had arranged a pair of fairly sophisticated microscopes on the countertop of the storage cabinetry. 

Currently, Liz was setting up the very basic set of chemistry equipment and her laptop next to one of the microscopes. Frustration covered every inch of her, as she took in the archaic tools spread out in front of her that were her means of saving Max. It was a far cry from her laboratory funded by the angiogenic research grant.

Alex had noticed at the front door that there was a discarded Crashdown waitress uniform hanging off the back of an armchair, along with empty shopping bags from Target. It was apparent that one or maybe both Ortecho sisters were crashing with Kyle at the moment.

“You could always take a job at the hospital. I know there aren’t any good research positions open at the moment, but even the entry level at the path-lab could be useful,” Kyle advised. 

“I've got 3 degrees, Kyle. No one is going to hire me for simple lab work without thinking I'm shady.”

Alex was engrossed in checking his phone as the two of them bickered in the background. It was supremely odd to him to be back in a room with Kyle and Liz together. He could feel the ghosts of junior and senior year of high school. It helped that for whatever painful history they shared in the past, it was clear there was still a deep bond of mutual affection and trust. 

Perhaps one day he would have that with Michael, except less platonic. 

For the time being, he could be patient and build towards that while they waited out the investigation. There were new notes updated by the Chaves County Sheriff’s office on Noah’s disappearance, updating his case with an even higher priority. Someone had noticed that the entire personal history of Noah Bracken was in all respects fictional and a query had been sent to the US Marshall’s office under the theory he was in witness protection.

Interestingly enough Agent Rollins was not buying into the new theory by the local sheriff. He was still determinedly pursuing Michael as his main person of interest. 

“Let’s talk theory for now. If interrupting the electrical charge causes the cells to decay, then presumably increasing the charge is what gave Max the power to save Rosa. We just need to find a way to do that short of being a lightning rod.” Kyle shuffled through the surviving notes on the death serum, and the follow-up antidote, still slightly smelling of smoke from the arson. 

“What we need is Mikey. Where is your fake boyfriend, Alex?” Liz asked.

“Don’t call him that.”

“Your hoax hubby? Pseudo-Partner?”

Alex shot a glare at Kyle, “Michael said he had a couple of jobs at Sanders's to do, before he could join us. Honestly I thought he would be here by now.” Alex opened his message inbox, looking for a new text from Michael, but found worryingly nothing. 

“It’s kind of funny, with all the stories my mom has about him, I really expected to hear about more of his drunken antics with everything that has happened recently. Instead, he’s going to work, and purportedly showering regularly,” Kyle put in knowingly. “Shacking up with you has really tamed him.”

“I seriously doubt that considering I picked him up not that long ago at the Wild Pony in all respects wasted.” 

Liz made a face. “I heard, when Maria called me at five that morning to yell at me about keeping her in the dark. He was so adamant about not telling her, but then got shitfaced and did it anyway.”

“I think the order was he told her, and then he got shitfaced,” Alex replied dryly.

“See? That’s your positive influence,” Kyle teased nudging Alex with his elbow. “Normally he gets drunk, and then he does something self-destructive to blow up his life.” The smile slowly dropped, as Kyle sobered with a thought. “Speaking of destructive, does he know about the drives?”

“No, not yet.” Alex glanced over at Liz before frowning at Kyle to cut off his questions. The existence of the data collected from Caulfield had only been known to the two of them. The broader details had been shared to Isobel by Michael, like the existence of the survival of crash refugees from ‘47 until the explosion, and the fact the Manes and Valenti families had a hand in running it. 

“What drives?”

Kyle rubbed the back of his neck, sheepish under the darkening glower from Alex. “Remember how I told you about finding that old prison my grandfather used to work at, that it was being used to house ‘47 crash survivors? I managed to grab some of the data they had collected before it blew up.”

Liz brightened eagerly. “What kind of data? Is there anything in there about unlocking or amplifying powers?”

“So far it just shows my dad murdering Kyle’s dad. Oh, and I found a bunch of footage of my uncle torturing Michael’s mother,” Alex commented with a bite, before pocketing his phone. He shifted his seat on the stool, pressing down on his prosthetic toes hard to ground himself in a renewed shock of pain. “I don’t think we’ll find the answers about preserving life in there. It’s all about misery and death.”

“Oh…” She replied stunned, the momentary excitement brutally dashed. The dark circles under her eyes looked more pronounced as she paled. “That’s pretty awful, Alex. For you and Michael. You haven’t told him?”

“He knows my family helped run Caulfield. He knows his mother died there. I just haven’t been able to find the words to tell him that they recorded so much of her captivity.” He raked his fingers through his hair, feeling the long locks brush down on his forehead. Last week he reached the length of casual disregard of regulation length, and now he was barreling toward outright insubordination. A surprise visit from a senior officer would not save him from discipline even in the face of his imminent discharge.

It was not so long ago that would have brought him pleasure in having back something he missed from his pre-Air Force life, proudly displaying a symbol of freedom from a life with which he had a love and hate relationship. 

Now as Alex looked around the sad attempt at a laboratory set up in Kyle’s garage, the thought lingered that perhaps it was time for a haircut and a new contract. They were badly in need of someone with access to the type of resources needed to save Max and divert the police away from Michael. What was another four years of his life in the face of seven decades of Manes-family sponsored horrors. 

“Speaking from experience, it is better if he learns this from you, Alex, and not get blindsided because he stumbles into the knowledge,” Kyle advised kindly. “It’s never the right time, but sometimes you can face it if it comes from the right person.”

* * * 

War had taught Alex that the road to hell was paved with both good and bad intentions. 

He had every intention in following Kyle’s advice. There was never going to be the right time to tell Michael that data had survived the explosion at Caulfield, and with it every fear he had that his mother had been relentlessly studied and tortured for decades was confirmed as real. When Michael was reeling fresh from the loss of Max and under the microscope of law enforcement, he could concede that was the worst time to tell him.

However, after the first week of Michael settling into the cabin, any delay was just selfish cowardice. 

It was not as if he didn’t think about telling Michael. Every day, it crossed his mind at some point, as thoughts about what his father had done were never truly far away. There was always a point he stalled on it. Sometimes he was having a down day from pain or keeping a handle on his PTSD or on particularly joyous days when it was both, and sometimes it was because of the opposite, things were so good between them and he didn’t want to ruin it. When he had Michael laughing in his kitchen, Michael smiling to himself as he scribbled in a notebook, Michael absently passing him his crutches; everything he had missed out on in the past, it was hard to muster the resolve to do something that might wreck it.

So, another week passed quietly, with Michael spending his early mornings at Kyle’s townhouse garage to jerry-rig ideas with Liz that were feasible to test with the limited equipment that had been cobbled together. Sometimes Isobel joined them, to fine tune her abilities with telekinesis and attempt to teach Michael the broader beginnings of telepathic suggestion. The alien collaboration was dependent on whether Rosa was at Kyle’s or if she was with Maria. 

Alex was yet to figure out if the avoidance was on Rosa’s behalf or Isobel’s. 

Once Michael had either built up a telepathic headache with Isobel or a simmering frustrated rage with Liz, he finished his afternoons at Sanders's to complete the line of car repairs in the service lane. Meanwhile, Liz handed off her work to Kyle, so she could work the lunch and dinner shifts at the Crashdown, relying on the precious time not consumed by Kyle’s own commitments in surgical rounds and hospital shifts. 

As for Alex, he had fallen into a routine of driving to the base to report in for the on paper busy-work they had shuffled to him in the face of his looming retirement, although more and more that was less of a sure thing. No one cared much if he left promptly at four, which allowed him to return to the cabin to work on the decryption of the Caulfield footage before Michael returned home from the garage. The security system gave him enough warning to close out of his work, and greet Michael at the door. His sweaty but tired face and then sweet insistence on helping Alex with dinner preparation was always sure to chase the lingering ghosts of his family’s atrocities away. 

The specter of Maria was still between them. 

Her words to him at Sunset Mesa were one thing that lingered in Alex’s mind, especially in regard to her unrequited feelings for Rosa. Michael had made no mention of her continued space, even when Alex commented on the decreased activity on Michael’s phone in the evening. He was not proud of himself in baiting Michael. It was petty to raise the observation that Michael used to send and receive multiple texts in the early evening hours before the dedicated drinking crowd arrived. The frequency of interruptions had dried up considerably after the revelation of aliens and the truth about the car accident.

All Michael would say was that Maria was busy reconnecting with Rosa Ortecho, and he was continuing to respect her request for space during that time. Alex did not have the courage to press on what that meant in terms of “the conversation” that had been placed on hold between them.

Maria was correct in identifying that he had some anger toward her regarding the ease in which Michael was willing to wait for her even after she had shut him out. Usually his anger was self-directed, content in recounting all of the reasons he had provided Michael over the years for why the well of patience had run dry between them and in his more honest moments, he knew he hadn't been alone in fucking up, that Michael had been right there in the middle of it too. However, afterwards when the anger wrestled with his guilt, because he knew that feeling this way about Maria wasn't fair to either of them, he understood that he needed to find acceptance with it. There was no changing the past. He had been granted the same space once and then had squandered it foolishly, so what right did he have to feel resentment over the situation? It was as Maria had annoyingly pointed out, hard to make logical sense out of feelings. 

Iraq had left most of his hopefulness atrophied in disuse, and his bravery in matters of the heart had never been particularly strong to begin with when he thought about it. If he had been given a second, or in this case fifth chance, there was every reason for him to believe that he would mess up again with Michael. It was why he couldn't help the guilt he felt in enjoying this charade with Michael that had all of the trappings of a relationship without any of the risks attached.

The evenings they spent together in companionable quiet, with Michael following him down to the bunker to work on his ship calculations as he tracked the angle of entry from the crash site, were one of his favorite parts of the day. Alex had attempted to follow his explanations but ended up getting lost in Michael's voice as he explained he was using star charts, weather reports, and the position of some of the wreckage he had personally dug up to try to find the coordinates of a likely home planet location.

Even if that home planet was a war-torn ruin, Michael wanted to know more about the journey.

Next to the crash trajectory work on the drafting table was Alex’s cache of the Caulfield drives. The silent reminder of past horrors humming in the background, wired into his main decryption processor and hidden under two layers of passwords. The visible computer screens took up the task of flashing the results of Alex’s monotonous work in hacking Pentagon budget proposals. He was looking for how the alien prison was funded, and as an offshoot of that, the dangerous bio weapon Flint was developing.

Most mornings he dodged the barely hidden annoyed look of the Chief Master Sergeant in charge of the duty roster, who glared at the too-long hair peeking out from his beret as he signed in at the base to continue work on upgrading and expanding the cyber security infrastructure. The shadow of the new Roswell base construction was taking shape almost overnight, with the purpose of the base still not entirely clear to Alex. 

His day job was dull, his evening work on the conspiracy was challenging, and thankfully the primary mission of keeping Michael safe was uneventful. 

The two federal agents were still interviewing witnesses, examining credit card statements from the Wild Pony, and starting a grid search along the outskirts of Sanders's Auto Lot, in hopes of finding evidence of Michael’s involvement in Noah’s death based on the eyewitness testimony of a fight. Alex was thankful every day that they had emptied the bunker of all things alien. The real test would be when the samples were finished and analyzed at the federal crime lab in Albuquerque.

Right. So, Alex recognized he was shuffling between complacency with Michael and enjoying the feeling he was in control for once. And like all good things, it was going to come to an abrupt end.

The first sign of trouble was Michael missing a planned strategy session between Kyle, Liz, Isobel and Alex at the hospital.

Kyle had related that his chief of surgery and the chief of radiology had a planned joint vacation skiing in Park City for a week near Christmas, so not only would he have more slack in his schedule to work on reviving comatose aliens, he could also arrange access to the MRI and CT scanners for baseline readings on either Isobel or Michael without worry of discovery. It made the most sense to use Michael as the template on alien brain studies, due to perceived commonalities related to gender and age. 

Alex had predicted some anxious push back and certainly some brutal sniping with Kyle to cover that fear with his typical jackass bravado from Michael. A complete absence was a surprise to him, and sent Isobel off on caustic rant that he was probably drunk at the Wild Pony making moon eyes at Maria. The jab that Michael preferred Maria to him set Alex off on his own uncharitable response to Isobel, starting with her apathetic concern for Michael’s well-being after high school and ending with her ungrateful feelings over the fact that Michael had borne the brunt of police scrutiny. 

It was not his proudest moment to revisit their argument from the cave. 

Michael's phone rang through straight to voicemail. Stubbornly he refused to believe Isobel’s taunt about the bar, so he decided to start his search at the most obvious place, work. Alex had just left the hospital to head to Sanders's in hopes of finding him, when his phone went off alerting him that Michael was at the cabin. He made a rough illegal U-turn, praying there were no police in the vicinity and headed away from Roswell. 

The classic body Chevy truck was parked neatly in front of the cabin, with no other vehicle around. The Airstream was still closed up, entirely undisturbed with the thick vinyl flaps shielding the tires from the elements.

Alex turned the front door knob easily, and took a deep breath. The cabin was silent with no signs of Michael, except for the moved coffee table, revealing the collapsible stairs to the bunker. Quietly, with a building sense of alarm, Alex descended the stairs into the shared work space. 

A soft chime echoed in the room, an alert that Alex had set his computers to make when movement on the stairwell was detected. Prior to that two separate alarms would have gone off in the bunker when he had turned off the highway to his driveway, and then again when he came within ten feet of the cabin exterior proper.

Three alarms had alerted Michael to the fact he was not alone, but he remained with his back to the room with his eyes fixed on a computer monitor. 

Alex followed his gaze and froze. On the screen was one of the first videos that Alex had decrypted and converted into a watchable format. Michael’s mother was laying on a table, nude, with her face turned toward the camera lens. She looked younger, almost childlike in her lack of facial wrinkles. Her eyes looked bigger and more pronounced with no hair on her head and a youthful face. 

Next to her was his grandfather, Jonathan Manes, looking in his mid-forties which made Alex believe this footage was from the 1966 or thereabouts. The Air Force uniform style fit in that time period, with the plain black name tag of J. Manes. There was an unidentified white coat wearing figure next to him, who was currently holding her legs up for what was some invasive assault masquerading as a medical exam. 

Both men were smirking at the camera.

“Michael…” Alex voiced roughly, stepping next to him to reach toward the keyboard to close the footage. “Don’t. Do not watch this.”

Michael made no move to stop him as he closed out the window, setting the screen to black. He stared sightlessly at the blank monitor. “I’m guessing that’s an uncle? Second cousin, twice removed?”

“Grandfather.” 

“Of course it is.” Michael swallowed hard, twin wet tracks of tears shining on his cheeks. “That family tree, the evil doesn’t branch out much, does it? Direct line to your dad.”

“I’m so sorry-”

“Don’t,” he cut Alex off brutally. “Don’t apologize. You’re not the one who put her in that cage. That was what, your great-grandfather Harlan? And you’re not the one who gave her that fucked up exam, that was just your granddaddy. And you’re not the one who killed her. That was just daddy dearest-” Michael choked harshly, as a sob caught in his throat. “Or me, depending on how you look at it. So don’t apologize, Alex. It wasn’t you.”

“No, just everyone I’m related to,” Alex replied bleakly, taking a seat next to Michael. He reached out to rest a hand on Michael’s leg cautiously. “I'm sorry that you saw that. I was… I was looking for footage of her where she was... where she was just in her cell. Not okay, but not being hurt.”

Michael tipped his head to the side, to meet Alex’s gaze finally. “Did you find any?”

Mutely Alex shook his head, as his own eyes welled up.

“Yeah, didn’t think so.”

His heart breaking at the amount of pain and hopelessness on Michael’s face pushed him to keep going, “It’s early though. I… I've only been able to crack two out of twelve of the drives. That one’s part of one that documents procedures. There might be others that are just surveillance.”

“Mmmm. So I can watch her pace in a glass cage, instead of being sexually assaulted. Cold fucking comfort, Alex.” Michael’s voice broke on the word assaulted, before it turned hard and angry. “When were you going to tell me you had these? When you found some nonexistent footage of her not being tortured?”

“I was going to tell you, I was,” Alex defended weakly. The justification for waiting for the correct time was just as Kyle predicted, feeble and without weight. This was the fruit of his cowardice. “It’s horrible, I know. I was trying to spare you the visuals.”

“I need you to stop doing that. You can’t keep trying to control shit by holding onto information and then saying it’s to protect me. I have a right to make my own damn decisions. She was my mother!” Michael ended his ragged speech with a harsh cry. He wrapped his left hand into a fist, pulling tight on the black wrap on his knuckles. 

Immediately Alex tensed, as he wiped at an escaped tear. His brain, formed and shaped by his experiences with his father, went into high alert. Michael, with his own trauma-shaped instincts, caught his flinch instantly and exploded upward from his seat and away from Alex to place several feet between them in the close confines of the bunker.

“For fuck’s sake,” Michael shook his head, wounded as he fisted the curls back from his eyes. “I will never, fucking never, lay on a hand on you.”

More tears spilled from Alex’s eyes, as he took a deep breath to lock down his feelings. He was really messing this up with Michael, not that the reveal was ever going to go smoothly. The progress that they had made in the last few weeks was vanishing right before his eyes, and he felt helpless to stop it. 

Trying for calm and conciliatory, he replied lowly, “I know. I know you wouldn't. We've never done that to each other.”

“Right. Never.” Michael kept to the other side of the room. He dropped his hands flat against his side, keeping them in view. His face was red, struggling to hold back his devastation at Alex’s response, merely compounding the grief triggered by the video. “I'm pissed and I can barely look at you right now because you kept this from me, but that. That’s not me, that’s not us.”

“I know, Michael.” Alex took another deep breath, and wiped at his face with his sleeve. Gradually he felt his pulse starting to slow, with the soft embrace of an upcoming adrenaline crash threatening at the edges. “Just... tell me what you need?”

“I don’t know. Short of a time machine, where I can rescue my mom, there's nothing. She’s dead. She lived a long, miserable life here. How ...how old was that clip?” 

He hesitated for a bare second and then caught the tightening of Michael’s face at his delay. “Mid 60s I think. I don’t even think my dad was born yet.”

Michael turned away, hiding his face as he coughed out a bitter laugh. “Assaulting aliens all day must have really been a turn-on for your grandfather. Fuck, that doctor wasn’t even wearing gloves. It was… pretext.”

Alex pressed his lips together tensely. He was absolutely correct, the medical examination was just a pretext for assault. So far the footage had dated back to the early 1960s, detailing tests and examinations, but it was clear as time passed, the care and interest in science was secondary to sadistic treatment of the captives. By the time 1966 had arrived, the aliens had been thoroughly examined and interrogated during their first almost twenty years of confinement.

Short of an advance in technology, the study of the captives were not breaking new ground. Absolute power and boredom over a secret population were traditionally a bad combination.

“I can tell you what they did, but I don’t think you should watch it. I don’t want you to have those images in your mind, okay? And if that makes me a controlling asshole, then so be it.” He lifted his eyebrow, firming up his wavering voice to Michael. This was a line in the sand for him, even if it called up the ghosts of arguments about his overzealous intervention and holding power over someone else. 

“And what about you, Alex? What about your mind? See, this is the type of thing I'm talking about. You’re so fucking ready to throw yourself on a grenade. Is this what the Air Force teaches?” Michael turned back around, and finally closed the distance between them. He came within inches of Alex’s chair. 

“There is an element of sacrifice, it comes with the sense of duty.” Alex licked his lower lip, looking up at Michael. “But mainly, this is my mess to clean up. These evil men took something that I believe in, service to others, and they used it to harm in unimaginable ways.”

“And it’s your duty to right this wrong? All by yourself?”

“It was 70 years of pain at the hands of my family. Don't you think I owe it to your family to make it right?”

“Stop. Seriously, what about the pain you suffered at the hands of your family?” Michael held up his healed left hand, waving it in emphasis to punctuate his words with feeling. “He did this to me, remember? He did, not you. That’s what you said, that I didn’t set him off that night. He was doing this to you long before I showed up. Well, how is this any different?”

Alex blinked a few times. He could tell that Michael was upset again, or still by what they were talking about. He glanced back toward the black monitor screen and then over to Michael, searching for the cause of the distress. Hoping this was the correct answer, he ventured tentatively, “I did bring you back to the shed that night-” 

“Alex!”

He flinched slightly again, shrinking back in on himself at the loud yell, as Michael dragged his fingers through his hair again, agitated. 

“‘S not the point. Okay... give me a second.” Michael closed his eyes fleetingly, before squatting down at Alex’s feet. He tipped his head forward to rest against Alex’s knee, hiding his face against the smooth grain of his jeans. It took a moment, before Alex could shake the surprise from his body to rest his faltering hand in Michael’s disheveled hair. Tenderly Alex began to smooth the curls back with his long fingers. Michael trembled under the touch, mumbling into his pant leg, “I hate this so much.”

Alex kept threading his fingers through Michael’s hair, doing what little he could to try to soothe him. “If I could spare you this pain, I would. I would do anything to try to make this right.”

Michael pressed his face harder against Alex’s leg, muffling the soft sob and laugh that escaped. “God, stop talking, okay?”

Off balance, Alex nodded mutely, and kept up the steady strokes through his curls. 

After a long moment, Michael shuddered hard, and pulled back to look up at Alex with bloodshot eyes. “I'm going to say something to you, I want you to really fucking listen okay?” He waited until Alex nodded again, before continuing, “I can’t be here with you if you’re going to keep trying to protect me at the expense of yourself.”

“But Guerin-”

Michael smiled sadly shaking his head, and pushed himself to his feet to stand over Alex. “Obviously, I’m not going anywhere, that puts you in the shit right along with me. It defeats the damn purpose to have you in a cell next to mine. But I’ll go sleep in my trailer if you keep doin’ this thing where you take it all on your own.”

The tone in Michael’s voice was deadly serious. Alex glanced at the drives, and then over to the salvaged computer terminals from the Project Shepherd bunker. It felt wrong not to do more to help in something that was drenched in his family’s blood. He did not know if he could give up this mission, even for Michael. “What are you asking me to do? Stop looking?”

“No, we need to know what they did and what the next step is. It's just, you were hacking military budgets and looking into property records, I thought. Kinda had no idea you had records from Caulfield, let alone you were studying them.” Michael leaned across him to type on the keyboard, bringing up the drive menu and listing of information. With a shudder, he brought up the video of his mother again, this time paused on her being escorted out of the room. “She still doesn’t have hair.”

“Um, that’s from the pollen,” Alex offered sympathetically, looking past her to stare at his grandfather. He barely remembered the old man, from what his brother Gregory said, their grandfather Jonathan was a lifetime drinker who was not ecstatic about his son Jesse bringing home a Navajo bride. “They put it in their food, to keep the powers muted. One of the side effects was hair loss. It had a short half-life, and wore off within a few hours.”

Michael reached out to touch the screen, stroking a finger down the image of his mother’s face. “They still just call her N-39.” 

“These are some of the oldest files I was able to open, but... she never speaks. I don’t know if they would have the early stuff onsite, from the 40s or 50s.” Alex risked covering Michael’s hand again, stilling his process of scanning files. “I know what you said, but I really don’t think you should watch these.”

“Someone’s got to.” 

“It shouldn’t be you though.”

“Then give me an answer about why it should be you, that is not connected to some line about you feeling responsible as a Manes, or wanting to protect me.” Michael pulled Alex’s chair away from the desk, and leaned against the smooth wooden top, blocking the view of the paused footage. “And if you try to tell me that war or the military prepared you for this, I’m gonna call bullshit on that too. You worked on cyber warfare and enemy communication intelligence.”

Shocked into silence at Michael’s knowledge of his job, Alex rubbed at his eyes tiredly. “Okay, can we compromise then? Watch the footage together?”

“Alright. But not tonight. Today was a day.” Michael turned back around to shut down the terminal again. “I missed that hospital meeting because I forgot to take my notes from the serum with me to town. I came down here, and that file notification was on the screen.”

“Oh.” This was his fault, as he remembered using his phone to remotely access the bunker computer terminal at lunchtime to check on the progress of decryption. He must have forgotten to close out the screen. “Well Kyle took some readings and scans of Isobel. He will let us know the next opportunity we have to the machines.”

Michael turned, and offered his hands to Alex to help him up from the chair. “Can hardly wait to hear from Valenti, then.” He carefully tugged Alex upright, using his power to ensure he was fully balanced, before stepping away to the stairwell. “I need a drink, I'm about to lose my mind right now.”

The tension was back in Michael’s shoulders as they left the room, closing off the humming click of the computer stations and leaving the pieces of the ship console behind. He remembered Kyle’s dry observation of how Michael handled life, by getting drunk and then doing something self-destructive. He also well remembered how the last public intoxication event had gone, with letting loose on Maria and doing his best to smash an emotional tie.

There was a touch of concern about encouraging the booze as the means of coping, but honestly Alex was out of ideas in how to deal with seeing the evidence of 70 years of inhumane torture visited on anyone, let alone a mother. 

Quietly he moved toward the closed sideboard in his kitchen and pulled out a bottle of 12 year old Macallan, still sealed. With his fingertips, he pinched two glasses together and carried them out to where the coffee table was back in place, sealing off the bunker.

Michael was slumped on the couch, his fingers threaded through his curls as he held his head up. He glanced up at the thunk of the heavy weight cut-crystal glasses resting on the table, followed by the bottle of scotch whiskey. “Really?”

He shrugged nonchalantly at the curious look, “I don’t think this is the answer to everything, but ...”

“Two glasses, you joining me then?”

“I could use the drink too.” Alex nodded toward the glasses, “Pour me one, I'm going to go put a frozen pizza in the oven, so we don’t completely wreck ourselves.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: Sexual Assault masquerading as a medical exam- it's not graphic, just strongly implied. Caulfield is a horror show.


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Adult situations ahead. Yeah.

The pizza vanished sometime between the second and third inch of the bottle of scotch. 

Even with the buffer of food, it did not take long to feel the warm, loose embrace of the alcohol. Shoes and socks were discarded, with the fire built into a roaring blast of heat in front of the couch. Michael had shed two layers of shirts to a plain white Hanes shirt and Alex was down to his Air Force PT shirt and black hoodie to get down to the serious business of drinking to blunt the edges of the horror of the video footage.

By unspoken agreement, they both left the subject of Caulfield and loss alone, instead Alex shared a story about coming across a hazing event that thankfully happened after DADT was repealed, otherwise a squad leader would have lost his career. It involved women’s underwear, tequila, and an attempt at running the obstacle course having one airman riding the shoulders of another airman, naked. 

In between wild stories of leave spent in Istanbul during Alex’s posting in Turkey minding the nuclear deterrence arsenal, Michael shared his own humorous stories about the improbable things discovered in customers’ cars. The glee in which he shared finding a graphic porn magazine under the driver’s seat of a local priest known for his purity lectures, set Alex off into giggles. 

“I told him it was bad luck I had the car, cause Mr. Sanders is so blind, he would have thought it was a clothing catalog.” Michael grinned widely as he sipped at his glass. “Minus the clothing.”

The heavy-duty can of 99 percent pure solvent was resting on the coffee table tightly capped per Alex’s request. The aroma of the mix with scotch tickled his nose but more importantly the heavy pour on good scotch offended all levels of Alex’s sensibilities. 

“I'm glad I didn’t pull out the 25 year. Not sure my heart could take seeing you mix industrial grade acetone with a well-made scotch.”

“Hmm, kinda like how I feel watching you dip your fries in your milkshake. ‘S crime against mint chocolate.”

Alex snorted, feeling the brush of Michael’s shoulder as the aged couch cushions sagged and pulled him to the middle. “I will take no criticism on that. Not from someone who can drink that. I'm surprised you have taste buds left.” He wrinkled his nose at the strong scent. 

“Liz thinks your fry thing is gross too,” Michael pointed out, draining his glass with one smooth flick of his wrist. 

“Liz thinks Max is hot too. Her taste is suspect.” He slumped a little away, fighting against the springs. His head tipped back against the back of the head rest. Feeling the warmth of Michael’s body with the scotch was loosening the tight confines of his control and it felt like a terrible idea, but he did not want to move. “Not to mention she dated Kyle.”

Michael poured another healthy splash into his glass, but left off the acetone with a mocking salute. “I’ll give you, Max. Cause yeah. Liz’s taste isn’t that terrible, ‘cause Kyle? Guy is a douche, but I can’t deny that he's hot.”

An utterly betrayed look slipped over Alex’s face. “No! You hate Kyle, you can’t find him attractive.”

“I didn’t say I’d suck his dick, but I’ve got eyes. Like his cheekbones? Damn, that would be a sight to look down on. Maybe he could suck my dick.”

“Noooo. ‘S not allowed,” he complained, fumbling for his glass to refill. “‘Can barely handle you wi’h Maria. Fuckin’ shoot myself if you and Kyle got together.”

Michael barked out a laugh, and rested his head against Alex’s shoulder. “Relax. I was jokin’. Even if he wanted, I wouldn't. I will hate that guy for life just on principle, okay?”

“Mussa’ done a real number on you in high school too.” He stretched his fingers toward the coffee table, careful not to dislodge Michael to pull his glass back to take another healthy swallow of scotch. 

The comforting heat seeped into his side, his neck tickled by Michael’s breath. He rested his drink on his right knee, and reached up to take advantage of the closeness between them. It was one of his greatest pleasures, rubbing his fingers through the soft curls at the back of Michael’s head and feeling the almost feline sense of contentment radiate from Michael.

“Nah, not me. You.” Michael half-closed his eyes at the touch. “Was lucky enough to be your friend in school, and then he fuckin’ bullied you. Forever on my shit list. Doubly so now I know ‘bout your dad.”

“Oh,” Alex breathed out softly, surprised by the still vigilant grudge on his behalf. He smoothed his fingers through the soft locks, feeling the slight damp curl of Michael’s warm body temperature. Though in retrospect, he had not looked too deeply into Michael’s unhidden antipathy toward Kyle. He figured as a rumored homeless kid, Michael had not escaped the popular jock bullying in the same Alex had been unable to dodge it. “Well, I got o’er it. Forgave him when he apologized. ‘S fine now. Can’t really say he’s a douche now.”

“‘Course you did. You’re all apologies these days, givin’ and receivin’. But not me, he’s forever on the list. Nothin’ is ten years to the left for me when it comes to someone who hurt you.” 

“He’s working hard to save Max. Still goin’ to be on the list if he succeeds?”

“I’ll give him half credit.” Michael opened his eyes to look up, pressing against Alex’s shoulder. “Gotta save your life if he wants full credit. But don’t!” He shook his finger blearily at Alex, “Don’t go gettin’ hurt to give him that chance.”

Alex smiled, and nodded in amusement at Michael’s steadfast and dramatic pronouncement. “Okay, I won’t.” He shifted on the couch as a small spasm of pain surfaced through the haze of scotch to vibrate up his right thigh-bone to his hip. The alcohol compromised his reflexes as he almost lost his grip on his drink as he stretched out his sore right knee. He kept one arm around Michael, and worked with the heel of his hand against the edge of his prosthetic leg and sock. “Dammit. Should have taken this thing off.”

Uncoordinated, Michael shifted away to give him room on the couch. “Here, I’ll help.” He rescued both glasses to deposit them on the table, before turning to Alex with his hands held out toward his belt and front of his jeans, hovering in invitation. 

A warm pulse of affection washed over Alex at Michael’s careful but eager assistance. He shifted to stand upright and looked down at Michael’s finger-ruffled hair with his pulse thudding loudly in his ears. Just a few weeks ago he had felt awkward laying on the couch with ice and no pants, and now he barely hesitated to let Michael guide his jeans down his legs. He sat backward on the couch again, the worn out springs pushing him against Michael as an unseen force tugged his pants free of his feet. 

Michael flicked his eyes toward the chair, and the jeans sailed the unseen guidance to the back of the chair. His work calloused hands ran down Alex’s right thigh to find the latches on the leg to unlock, before slowly easing the prosthetic leg free of the compression sock and vinyl sleeve. 

Alex bit his lower lip at the unwavering confidence of Michael peeling the vinyl sleeve down to rest on the end of the prosthesis. “Thanks,” he whispered, moving over on the couch to take over the slow massage of the sore end of his right leg. 

Invisible hands lifted the scotch bottle to splash the final dregs into their glasses. Michael picked up his glass deliberately, taking a long sip to swish around his mouth meaningfully before swallowing. Alex inhaled sharply, recognizing the intent look on his face. 

It was the same look from the high school reunion, the same look from inside the homey but closed-in walls of the Airstream. The most painful remembrance was to match that look to a sweet 17-year-old boy in his tool shed. 

Alex bit his lower lip again, as the too-warm hand covered his, pausing the massage on his stump. He looked at Michael’s mouth, and inhaled again, his senses awash with the peppery scent that was beloved and recognized as only his. “Guerin…”

Michael quirked his lips with a smile, and breathed out. “What?”

“God. You know what.” 

Unhurriedly, with eyes flickering down at Alex’s lips before tracking back up purposefully, his smile grew wider and a little reckless. “Do I?” 

It was a test of his control to feel Michael’s hand on him, leaning closer and hovering within inches of his mouth. There were a million reasons why this was a bad idea. It started with the undefined nature of Michael’s relationship with Maria and ended with the emotional upheaval they had shared just hours ago with the Caulfield footage.

This could be just a reaction to grief. The need to feel anything but the raw knife of loss, it was something he had embraced a time or two in the past, personally. Burying trauma in alcohol or sex was textbook displacement. They were both particularly skilled in moving from heavy verbal discussions to wordless physical encounters in the most clear-cut cases of avoidance. 

Except Michael’s touch felt the same, the spark and electric connection that was always there whenever they brushed against each other. 

It was there when they prepared dinner together, working in concert in the kitchen. It was there when they shared a drink late at night, after nightmares woke one or the other and only the firelight witnessed it. It was there now, feeling Michael holding himself back, waiting for the indication that Alex wanted the same thing.

Fuck, he did want it, and he was so tired of denying that. 

“I shouldn’t,” Alex murmured in direct contradiction as he moved closer. “We shouldn’t,” he continued faintly, before closing the gap to kiss Michael. His mouth was hot, and open instantly, the taste of just scotch trading between them as he deepened the kiss. 

With that encouragement, Michael pressed him down to the couch, his hand coming up to keep Alex’s head from hitting the edge as his body covered Alex’s. Not passive at all, Alex braced his left foot on the couch as his right thigh tipped outward, welcoming the friction of Michael’s jeans against his boxer briefs. 

Both hands trailed up toward Michael’s shoulders, tugging his white T-shirt off in impatient tugs. He tossed the shirt toward his discarded jeans, and opened his mouth to trail a kiss toward Michael’s ear. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

Michael smiled, pleased, before leaning back to pop the fly of his jeans and wiggle them down his thighs, to kick them to the floor gracelessly, nearly losing his balance to topple off the couch. Only Alex’s intoxicated wide palm sloppy grab kept him in place. “Whoops!”

“Shit. Michael... you’ve been drinking, maybe this isn’t a good idea.”

As always, even with a bottle of scotch gone between them, Michael slowed his efforts at pulling off the hoodie and shirt from Alex’s body at the first hint of second thoughts. “You’ve been drinkin’ too. Do you want me?”

“I always want you, that’s not the problem.”

Michael glowed after the admission. “Then what? I want you too.”

His mind struggled to articulate the issues that still lay unsolved between them. From his family’s crimes to the genuine fear that Michael was only here out of forced obligation. He lived his entire life, pushing aside what he wanted, and bowing to fear. For once, he wanted to be greedy and throw the ledger of reasons why he did not deserve this into the garbage.

His silence emboldened Michael to continue, “We’ve done this before and you know how good we are at it.”

Alex smoothed his palms from Michael’s collarbone, to cup lovingly around his throat, to finally trail up to his jawline. His thumb traced over the red healing cut from Isobel’s visit, the visual reminder of how dangerous a loss of control could be. Balancing precariously between decisions, he held Michael's face still, so he could check the warring levels of intoxication in his eyes versus the darkening promise of arousal. “I know, Michael. We are good at it.” He lifted his head up to breathe against Michael’s mouth, and embraced the invitation. “You’re so good-” 

The word ‘good’ triggered a soft, needy noise in response. Michael pressed down against Alex, his hard cock grinding lightly against Alex’s hip bone and closed the short distance to deepen the kiss again. “Please, sweetheart, love. Let me... please let me.”

The tug of arousal weighed heavily, brushing up against the weightless untethered feeling of inebriation. Alex shifted to line his hips up, enjoying the sparks as Michael ground down against him. He felt the disconnect, the leaden feeling of being so turned on but the missing result. 

Michael’s hand ducked under the waistband of his underwear, wrapping his fingers around the slowly filling erection to stroke and coax. It was a moment of messy shifting to pull those final barriers between them down and away. Alex ran his hand down the soft spare chest hair slipping down to find Michael’s cock in his hand. He wrapped his fingers around him, relishing in the hot, and wet feel against his hand, precum smearing against his finger tips, as he stroked upward from the nest of dark curls.

Michael moved his hand to wrap around them both, nudging Alex’s hand away as he stroked them together. Alex relinquished his grip to find Michael’s hipbone and shut his eyes tightly, chasing the feeling restlessly. He could feel the building tension just under his skin that danced just out of reach. It was so close. It was utterly out of reach. 

“Fuck, fuck, Michael,” Alex moaned weakly, hopelessly sensitive but jarred and frustrated by his body’s lack of response. His cock filled slightly with blood, firming a little under the attention but remained unhelpfully soft as Michael’s curved effortlessly upward to brush against Alex’s stomach. Everything felt impossibly good, the warm intimacy that had lingered on the edges of every brush of domesticity over the few last weeks was being offered to him. He craved it. It was maddening that his body refused to respond, keeping it just out of reach. “I can’t-” He whimpered, blinking the tears that welled up instantly. “Can’t.”

Michael shifted, keeping his lower body on Alex, and pulled his hands back up to balance his head next to his to meet Alex's dark gaze. “Can’t?”

“Sorry,” Alex choked out, the sweet pleasure scattered over the new feeling of disappointment. Tears leaked down his face, as he turned away from the dark golden gaze of Michael. He could still feel how hard and incredibly turned on Michael still was. Alien metabolism out stripped his, or perhaps he was just less broken than Alex was. “My meds, or too much scotch, or both. Sorry.”

“Shhh...it’s okay, darlin’. Don’t have to be sorry.” Michael pressed a soft kiss against his lips, before shifting backward, removing his fever-hot skin away.

Alex moaned softly at the loss, hating himself and his body fervently at the moment. He panicked as he felt Michael withdraw and twisted on the couch, until he was firmly on top of Michael, pinning him to the aging cushions. “Don’t go.”

His amber eyes widened at Alex’s weight and plea, his lips parted in a gasp. 

Alex locked his fingers around Michael’s wrists, pulling them upward to drape over the arm of the couch. He pressed them solidly down, pinning them in place, before turning his mouth to drop wet open mouth kisses down his neck, to his chest, rising harshly under the treatment. Maybe he couldn't do much, but he could do this. “Jus’ cause I can’t, doesn’t mean you can’t.” 

“Oh…” Michael swallowed hard, as Alex moved down to guide the head of his cock into his mouth with a sloppy dedication. Michael could not help but groan at the feeling, Alex's tongue pressing stiffly against the slit before sucking forcefully. “Oh fuck!”

Alex could feel the impatient fingers dragging through his out of regulation hair. A perfect juxtaposing memory of the summer after high school flitted across his senses of Michael, burying his fingers into the long locks of hair greedily, knowing that there was a countdown in play to a buzz cut and celibacy under DADT.

“Alex, sweetheart…” Michael stuttered, looking down with overwhelmed eyes. “I missed your mouth.” 

He hummed in pleasure, acknowledging the worshipful sounds escaping Michael, and relaxed his throat to take him in deeper. This was a skill he’d had to practice, after a childhood of being roughly handled by the throat. It took concentration, a little alcohol and a deep desire to please his partner to override some of the animal instincts buried in his head at the restriction in his airway. For Michael, to please him, Alex felt like he could do anything.

Michael was lost in the pleasure and could not help but buck his hips upward, following the feeling of wet suction greedily. Alex was gagged in surprise, and pulled back his mouth back, keeping his hand firmly around the base. He gulped a few swallows of air and pushed down the momentary alarm.

“Sorry!” Michael started to move away, his hand moving down from the agreed upon frozen position to come down and take over from Alex. 

Alex batted his hand away, before fixing both of his palms on Michael’s hips. He pressed him down to the couch, inhaled the earthy and sharp scent into the back of his taste buds, before following with teasing Michael’s cock into his mouth and to the tight closure of his throat. He felt Michael’s hands return to his hair, scraping down to the back of his neck, leaving light scores with his nails.

Hearing him panting harshly above, feeling the minute movements being held back with his tight grip on Michael’s hips, fueled Alex's efforts. He took Michael deeper, humming with pleasure in his throat, letting the sound vibrate from his chest, and inhaled again at the wordless shout from Michael. 

There was so much that Alex could not change, could not fix, but he could do this. He could give Michael this release. His pulse beat loudly in his ears as he moved his mouth up and down, following behind his lips with his palm. 

Michael’s gasps started to take on a syllable of coherence, he could hear his name chanted between curses. The muscles around his palms tensed again, signaling that the crest of orgasm was suddenly there between them. Alex closed his eyes, concentrating on the tight grip of Michael’s hands in his hair, and let his mouth relax into the stuttering release.

He waited, keeping his lips firm, and swallowed, before letting the tense grip of Michael’s fingers guide him away from the hyper sensation.

“That was so good, darlin’.” Michael slipped his hands around Alex’s rib cage to guide him up to a kiss. He lazily opened his mouth, kissing with dazed and pleasure-careless attention. 

Alex licked his lower lip after breaking the kiss, feeling the puffy bloom of use against his tongue. His body had slipped into a tired but languid state, no longer under the stress of orgasming once he was able to pleasure Michael. “I’m glad. I wanted to make you feel good.”

Michael turned his head into Alex’s sweat slick throat. “What about you? I want to make you feel good too.” His hand trailed down to stroke along Alex’s hip, and started toward Alex’s half filled erection.

Sincerely Alex caught his hand, and brought it to his lips to kiss softly. “You did. You are. Just being here with me again.”

He rested his lips against the strong beat of blood under Alex’s skin. “Doesn’t feel like that’s enough.”

Alex shifted, sliding back against the couch to face Michael. He stroked his hand along the wiry but well-built swells of muscle along Michael’s arm up to his shoulder. “You are enough. You’ve always been.”

Half-lidded pleasure drunk eyes met his gaze, before he turned his head down to mumble against Alex’s throat again, “I dunno, I think I’m either too much or not enough.”

“Me too. We’ve always had that in common.”

Michael exhaled, pressing another soft affectionate kiss against the closest bit of skin he could find with his mouth. “Still think this was a bad idea?” 

The cover of irresponsible decisions fueled by alcohol had worn thin as an excuse, considering Michael’s metabolism, but there was still that lingering doubt that it was sex for the sake of distraction. He did not want to look too closely at that. Formless anxiety always accompanied Alex after sex, the legacy of his father in the tool shed, but here in his cabin, securely monitored and surrounded by Michael, he felt recklessly happy. 

Alex threaded his fingers into Michael’s hair, pulling the long wild curl away from his eyes. “I guess that depends on you. I'm here, I'm not going anywhere.”

“I’m starting to believe that.” He rubbed his face against Alex, scoring his stubble against the newly revealed dark shadow on Alex’s jawline. “Half of me thinks you’re an idiot for stickin’ around and not leavin’ me twisting in the wind. You know I’m never more than five minutes away from ruining my life, and takin’ you down with me.”

“And the other half?”

“Really fuckin’ thankful you have no self-preservation instincts and I shouldn’t question it.” Michael closed his eyes again, pressing back into Alex’s fingers. “We shouldn’t sleep out here, this fuckin’ couch is a killer with bad springs.” Reluctantly, he opened his eyes, and started to pull away from Alex. “You still gotta take your pills and do your PT.”

Helplessly Alex smiled, looking at the soft sheen of sweat on Michael’s body and the relaxed posture of having had a satisfying orgasm. Even in the middle of that, he was still thinking about Alex and his needs. “Don’t need self-preservation skills if you're looking out for me.”

“That’s gotta be the scotch talking, or else we’re back to me thinking you’re an idiot.” Michael shook his head, and pulled his underwear back on before summoning the crutches with his telekinesis. With care, he helped level Alex back up on the couch, scooping his boxer briefs up off the ground. “Mornings always bring regrets or hangovers. If you stay out here on this couch, it's gonna be both.”

Alex accepted his steadying hold, as he pulled his boxer briefs back up and then rested his weight on the arms of the crutches. He wanted to lean into this moment, to stretch it until the gap between what he wanted and what he had was connected. Boldly he moved his crutches forward, and glanced up with a heavy lidded invitation. “Then help me to bed. And stay there with me.”

Michael closed his mouth and stared at Alex searchingly. After a moment, with a glance down at the coffee table and hidden bunker, he nodded. 

* * * 

Morning found Alex stretching across his bed, seeking out the warmth of Michael and finding cool sheets instead. 

Well.

That was to be expected, he told himself before pressing his nose deeply into the pillow Michael had used. The disappointment was sharp in his throat, as he filled his senses with their shared scent greedily. 

Even though he woke up alone, Alex could not regret what had happened the night before. Maybe it wasn’t wise to get so intoxicated that he fell back into bed with Michael, especially after an emotional evening discussing Caulfield, but it still felt good. It felt good to touch and bring Michael pleasure for once instead of pain, and outside the humiliation of not being able to get there himself, there was nothing he would change.

Ironically, he awoke to find his body primed and ready in complete contrast to last night. 

The cabin appeared empty at that moment, although Michael could be just down the hall reading silently, Alex teased himself. It was a quick decision, but he reached into his bedside drawer for a squeeze of lube. The idea of Michael coming back to bed and finding Alex hard and ready ignited his thoughts. They could pick up where regrettably he had failed before.

Michael’s scent on the sheets, and the memory of his taste in his mouth sent him quickly over the edge. Alex took a moment, enjoying the pleasurable hum of satisfaction in his body, before he reached for a discarded shirt to clean up with. 

A fluttering piece of paper dropped off the nightstand with the dark messy scrawl of familiar handwriting caught his eye.

It was a moment of supreme concentration to place his left foot solidly on the floor of the bedroom and balance with a bent knee using his crutch to retrieve the scrap of paper. 

In bold black ink on the back of a receipt from the Wild Pony was a note in Michael’s writing. “Meeting Dr Dickhead at the hospital. Last minute chance for scans. Enjoy your hangover. Coffee is made.” Signed with a simple heart around the letter M.

Alex could not help but smile at the heart. He flipped over the note and smiled a little more recognizing the date on the receipt as that night he had revealed his alien roots to Maria. It was hard to keep from feeling hopeful. Did he dare believe Maria when she said she was backing away from her intention of being with Michael once he was free to pursue? It was a tug of war in his mind at the distance Maria was deliberately putting between herself and Michael after she found out the truth and the remembrance of her telling him that sleeping with Michael had meant nothing.

Trust was something he had to summon and practice with intention, it was not an unconscious instinct he had after the age of eight. 

He picked up his phone and noticed a missed call from a restricted number. There was no voicemail left. There was a text from an unknown number. “Have U seen Dad?” 

Well that was also to be expected, he thought. Jesse Manes couldn’t drop off the face of the earth without someone noticing, whether it was the Air Force or one of his brothers. Slowly he typed out “No. He’s in Africa” in reply and then rubbed at his eyes.

Thanks to the amount of water Michael had forced on him last night after they had gone to bed, his predicted hangover was nonexistent. With Michael tied up with Kyle undergoing baseline tests, it made for an excellent opportunity to use his scheduled day off to make a long overdue visit to his father’s house.

Only an unintelligent person would keep evidence of a secret government operation in their home. Alex knew that while his father was not stupid, Jesse was arrogant. Regardless of the illegal operation in surveillance, there had to be some sort of authorization to run and fund an off-the-books prison.

His eyes were killing him from inspecting line item budget proposals buried in the Department of Defense files he had accessed and then turning to the more immediate evidence of examining his father’s bank records from funding the surveillance operation in Roswell. It would not hurt just to eliminate the obvious source of information, his father’s empty house.

The last time he had set foot in his childhood home, was as a recently turned 18-year-old kid holding the signed enlistment papers between two dislocated fingers, while the other hand held frozen peas against cracked ribs. He could still remember the bright fire burning, licking up bluish flames as his posters and hair products burned in their outdoor fire pit while his father stoically fed the inferno with his concert shirts and notebooks filled with musical scribbling.

Old enough to sign his life away to the service but still so deeply under his father’s thumb, he could barely muster a protest at the destruction of his belongings. What little objection he made earned him the cracked ribs. The dislocated fingers, a cheap imitation of the damage his father had done to Michael, had been the result of trying to hold onto his lyric notebook desperately.

Every song he had penned was a love story about Michael, even the awkward stanzas about burning a small town to the ground.

Alex never wrote another song after that summer.

He parked his SUV on the street in front of the house. The grass was brown and flat, in deep December hibernation but the rest of the landscaping was still meticulously maintained. There were no boxes or piled up newspapers in the driveway. It was all signs of the forethought his father set up before the training mission in Niger.

His hands were clenched on the steering wheel. 

Out of habit, he brought up the video feed of the cave on his phone and verified for the sixth time this morning that his father was still trapped inside the pod. 

There was no reason to worry or be frozen inside his SUV. His thumb hovered over the contact for Michael, considering for a wild moment that he could call and ask him to join him here. Alex pushed that impulse down hard. It was one thing to reluctantly agree on sharing the pain of the Caulfield files with Michael, he couldn’t be so weak and bring Michael back to the scene of a brutal homophobic attack.

Alex retrieved the keys he liberated off his father’s body, and unlocked the door. Immediately a beeping went off, signaling the presence of a security system alarm.

It took a moment to connect to the alarm system and trigger the program he had cloned off his father’s phone. After a long moment, the beeping stopped, and the lights lit up green on the control panel.

With that hurdle successfully conquered, Alex closed the door and stepped into the house. The walls in the entryway were covered with framed photos and military plaques commemorating the service of the Manes family. His eyes drifted over the names, his father’s, his brother Gregory, his brother Flint, his oldest brother Clayton, all of them looking proud in their service dress uniforms. It did not surprise him that he could not find his own picture or name anywhere on the wall.

The unforgivable crime of being gay was enough to keep his name unmentioned and unremembered. 

A swell of anger and disgust filled him as he saw framed photos of his uncle, his grandfather and even his great-grandfather displayed in the empty spaces. It truly spoke to the broken and deep prejudice of his father that he could scorn someone for their sexual orientation but celebrate men who had raped and tortured sentient beings.

Methodically he searched the house, starting from one corner and continuing until he ran into the obvious location of his father’s office. Keeping in mind that Jim Valenti built a secret bunker, Alex exhaustively tapped every wall, and every square inch of the floor. 

Unimaginatively, his father kept nothing secreted away in the house. The photos were all photos, nothing slipped between the glossy print, and the frame backing. Under the rugs were just floorboards. The freezer and the toilet tanks were both empty of anything unusual.

Finally, he stepped into the office and sat down in the computer chair to boot up the aged Dell desktop. Alex smiled, realizing that his father did not even bother setting a password. Just to be thorough, he injected his thumb drive and imaged the whole drive over to be examined later.

The file cabinets yielded some more interesting gems, as he located folders with both Jim Valenti’s name but also Jacob Clarke, the witness that linked Michael to Noah. He opened his backpack and secreted the files away. He grabbed the file with Flint's name and all the other names he didn’t recognize. Another folder was interestingly marked ‘Fosters Ranch Base Plans’. His hand hovered over it before it too was also stashed for later review. He left the files labeled taxes and receipts. 

After his drive completed the transfer, he did another quick search of the house and finally lingered in the doorway of his childhood bedroom. The walls were still pockmarked with holes from the posters his father had pulled down and burned. The modest chest of drawers stood empty of all his belongings, and a simple blue bedspread was over the bed. 

If he pulled off the sheets and blanket, he wondered if the bloodstains from his first broken nose would still be there, dotting the white mattress with a map of wounds from a childhood with a monster.

It was best to leave the bedspread in place. Covering up the damage his father had done to him was just an instinctual habit now.

Once he finished his sweep of the home and office, he closed the front door and stored his backpack filled with materials in his SUV. He had one last place to inspect, and it was one he dreaded more than any other. With a heavy stride, he started around the corner of the house toward the trees and the backyard. There was a stone path marking the way through the ornamental bushes and cactus, past the outdoor grilling area, and leading toward the only refuge he was allowed as the black sheep of the family, the tool shed.

The exterior bones of the shed looked unchanged from ten years ago.

There was a pair of framed windows next to a front door, marking the shed as simply a small house, miniaturized from the original footprint of his family home. The door had a new lock, shiny and large, outside of what a typical shed would sport.

Once upon a time he used to hurry his steps after dinner to see if Michael was there, sprawled and safe on the old couch, with his head bent over textbooks. 

Alex fished through the ring of keys he took off his father until he found a key that fit the shiny deadbolt lock. It took a few deep breaths to push past the residual fear he had and turn the key. Once upon a time this had been his only shelter from getting beaten by his father for something altogether out of his control.

The knob turned easily in his hand. As the door swung open, another set of alarms started to go off. Frowning, Alex stepped inside, and found a new control panel on a separate system alarmed to protect the tool shed.

Jesus what the hell was his father up to that he set a secondary alarm in a small building that had housed excess tools, an old couch, hunting trophies and Alex’s concert posters? A quick glance to the system and the wiring toward the house, he realized it was a duplicate system. He held his phone up and ran the unlocking program for the second time to turn the alarms off.

Silence reigned, as the alarms stopped their echoing wail. 

Alex turned his head to take in the surroundings. Gone were the hunting trophies and antler displays from the interior walls. Gone was the workshop bench that once housed that hated hammer. Gone was the well-worn couch and album cover posters. 

In the preceding ten years, all elements of the shed that Alex remembered had gone missing and been replaced with a chilling setup he recognized from his tours overseas. Once or twice he had transitioned to a base that held a rendition site for the interrogation of suspected terrorist operatives deemed valuable but too dangerous for transport out of the area. The makeup of those holding areas looked very much like the set up his father had put into place in the shed.

The middle of the shed now held a simple steel chair. Four legs disappeared into a poured concrete floor. The back of the chair sported heavy-duty manacles attached. A single bright light hung from the ceiling, while dense material was papered to the walls to absorb sound. The ceiling was covered in foam, with four square speakers wired into it. 

Alex turned around, taking in the changes with a strong feeling of dread. Heavy-duty blackout blinds were secured above both windows. There was a simple metal cabinet where the work bench once stood. He cautiously swung the door open, and closed his eyes briefly at the contents.

Several knives in varying lengths were held in velvet enclosures, along with two tasers marked with voltage levels only seen in law enforcement issued stun guns. A rubber-bit gag hung from a hook inside the cabinet attached to a strange leather headgear. Finally, there was a large canister with a yellow substance inside. Pollen, likely from the fagonia thebaica flower that bloomed only in the Libyan desert naturally. 

This was an alien interrogation chamber. 

His father had taken the only meager shelter he had had as a teenager and had converted into his own private Caulfield cell for a single alien occupant. One alien in particular. A small business card with ‘Sanders's Auto - Welding - Repairs - Parts - Service Garage’ neatly printed with the hours scribbled on the back in his father’s precise handwriting.

Alex exhaled harshly and then took a new deep breath to hold, to calm his escalating terror. He could not help but back away from the shed and pull out his phone to check the video footage of the cave. Intellectually he knew Michael was safe, but he had long learned to go along with the instincts dictated by his hyper-vigilance. 

“What the hell are you doing here?”

Surprised, Alex thumbed off the display on his phone and dropped his hand to the small of his back to land on the cold, comforting grip of his handgun. He kept his hand on the grip and turned to face the accusing voice to meet the glare of his brother Flint. “Hello, brother. It’s good to see you.”

Flint was dressed in his army fatigues, his full thick coat kicked out at his hip revealing he was likely carrying his own firearm. He narrowed his gaze on Alex, and brought his hand to his side. “Answer the question, Alex. What the hell are you doing here, and don’t feed me some story that you were sent by Dad again.”

“Dad’s in Africa. I thought I would take the opportunity to look around here.” 

“Why?”

Alex shrugged flippantly, keeping his voice steady. “Morbid curiosity. When you find out your family is running an alien Auschwitz, you start thinking about the past.”

Flint shook his head in disgust. “Jesus you’re so dramatic. You’re still shedding tears over those monsters?”

“The murder of illegally detained geriatric prisoners? Yeah, that still bothers me. It should bother you too.” Alex held his ground as Flint stepped closer, looking curiously at the shed over Alex’s shoulder. 

“If we didn’t have those freaks under guard, they would have slaughtered innocents. It was necessary. If you would just get past your grudge against Dad, you’d see that too.”

It was one thing to suspect that his brother had been fully brainwashed by the danger of aliens, it was a whole other issue to hear his systematic abuse and denigration by their father to be reduced to a ‘grudge’. The insulting term black sheep was not an isolated judgment by Flint.

“I guess I’m just a little dramatic about Dad breaking my bones and beating me black and blue since I was 13. If you want to call that a grudge, go right ahead,” Alex mocked lightly.

Flint was silent for a moment, before frowning again. “Whatever, Alex. He was strict with us growing up, find me a military father that isn’t.” He pushed past Alex to turn the knob of the shed, and then shot an accusing glance as it turned easily in his hand. “This should be locked.”

“That’s how I found it,” Alex lied easily. “Thought it was a little weird to have a lock on some tools and an old couch.”

Skeptically Flint looked over his shoulder and pushed the door open. “Dad and I cleared out your shit a long time ago. This was his side project.”

Alex peered past him, and pasted a look of studied surprise on his face. “Most dads take up golf as a side project. This looks like something out of a German-dubbed porno.”

A supremely unamused look crossed Flint’s face as he flipped on the light switch to scan the interior. “Most dads aren’t keeping the world safe from a classified alien threat. They look just like us you know, and that’s not by accident. The whole point was infiltrate our society, sow division until we’re so weak they can just move in and become our masters.”

“You just described the Koch Brothers talking points. So you’re telling me Mitch McConnell is an alien?”

Flint shut the lights back off, and closed the shed door to lock it forcefully. “Go ahead and joke, but Dad had a line on an alien that was living in Roswell. This was built as a containment cell to keep it from communicating with the others we had in Caulfield.”

“It looks very official, turning our backyard tool shed into a mini blacksite interrogation chamber,” Alex observed dryly. He was careful to keep his brother in front of him, with one eye always on the firearm. “Dad is such a visionary.”

His brother paused, glancing toward the shed and then back at Alex. A faint crease of suspicion wrinkled his forehead as he studied Alex’s face intently. “Have you seen Dad lately?”

“Not since he took that training mission assignment in Niger.”

“Are you sure?”

“I am very sure I haven’t been to Africa since 2010 when I did a three-month tour at Camp Lemonnier,” Alex noted truthfully. 

Flint rubbed his face, visibly hesitating as he slung his ring of keys around his finger. He squinted in the late morning sun, “Dad’s not in Niger. He came back to Roswell just after we lost the Caulfield facility.”

Alex locked down his emotions, allowing an edge of sarcastic surprise to curve his eyebrow upward. “That’s news to me.”

“Is it? Because he told me he was going to go see you and your friend Valenti, and then he disappeared.” 

It was only a little cold comfort to have confirmation that his guess, about being next after his father attempted to kill Kyle, was correct. Every time he thought he had experienced the last shred of hope lost regarding his father, that nothing was below his value of Jesse Manes, a new, even lower level of betrayal appeared.

“Dad and I don’t get along, so I doubt he was coming to see me. Besides, he’s a Master Sergeant in the Air Force, he can’t just disappear without someone noticing. I'm sure if you check his duty log in Niger, you’ll see he’s there.”

Flint rolled his eyes and barked out a scornful laugh. “You think I haven’t done that? He’s not there and I’ve been covering for him through the Project. I thought he might have gotten a line on the identity of the alien living in Roswell. I figured he was working on capturing it so we could have a fresh source of subject matter to test,” Flint replied easily, as if he was not describing the detention and torture of a living being. He glanced toward the shed again and frowned with worry. “I think something happened to him. The alien got him somehow.”

This was the confirmation that Alex dreaded but had guessed about. Protecting Michael from the federal investigation was only a temporary stopgap with someone out there still running the Roswell operation. If the weapons development was still ongoing after the Caulfield, and his brother had the ability to hide his father’s absence under the cover of a surveillance op, simply watching the databases for updates would not be enough.

“You know, I heard a rumor that there’s been a spike in crime in Roswell,” Flint continued. “A body and another missing persons case happened along the same time I last heard from Dad. I think he was right, there is an alien here and it’s hunting victims.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update is Thursday! I know, I know- but work is going to be insane the next few days. 
> 
> Thank you again for all the great comments, my brain does not know what to do with them.


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm caught up on feedback, work calmed down a bit so... early update!

Alex ran his fingers through his long fringe, enjoying the feeling one last time.

After he left Flint at his father’s house, Alex sent a request to the duty sergeant to petition an interview with his current superior officer to review his options. His skills in cyber security were still valuable to the Air Force, and transitioning to a flag officer position should not be difficult. Deployment was truly the only obstacle facing him after his injury. 

He could still remember how proud his surgeon had been to preserve his knee after amputation, relating with the smugness only a doctor could get away with, that his disability rating had dropped under fifty percent thanks to the skills in the operating room. Only the heavy duty morphine he had had flowing into his IV had kept him from punching the smug surgeon.

Missing his right foot and calf, black stitches snaking along his hip and thigh from the blast, and the man had expected a congratulations for preserving Alex’s military career. At least a year after the injury, Alex could summon a small portion of the expected gratitude that he had lacked in that German hospital room.

The physical training test would likely be the most challenging, but if he allowed his prosthetist to fit him with a blade, he was fairly certain he could meet the minimum requirements in running and fitness to maintain his commission, even if he would never again be sent to an active combat area.

He finished signing a tentative agreement to extend his service for another four years with the firm request of taking over the Roswell assignment. Enclosed in his documents, he slipped a doodle of the symbol that Michael had called an alien beacon, that Alex had found many references to in the Caulfield drives. It was subtle enough to be overlooked by the average paper-pusher filing his documents but damning enough to catch the eye of the people involved in studying aliens. 

He was musing over the chances of his gamble paying off when his phone rang, lighting up the contact of Mark Torres.

“Hey, what’s up?” Alex answered, frowning with renewed worry as he drove through the checkpoint at the base. “Is everything okay?”

“Relax, Alex, your boy is fine,” Mark greeted warmly, rightly guessing the train of thought. “I just thought good news deserved a phone call and not a text message. I already talked to Michael, he said hi, dinner will be the steaks on the grill and to tell you he’s going to suck your dick later, so get ready.”

Alex sputtered in embarrassed shock almost driving off the road, “What! He did not!”

Mark Torres laughed loudly, the sound echoing through the speaker cleanly. “Nah, I'm just fucking with you. He did say hi and that I was legally allowed to share this with you, since you’re not my client. We got lucky, the judge those feds drew is a real big watchdog on government overreach, so they denied the requests for blood and DNA on Michael since your alibi is very tight for Hank Gibbons’s murder. The bright side of being a decorated, disabled war hero, your word really is gold in some places.” 

“That is good news, even though Michael is innocent.” 

“Their connection of Michael to Gibbons was thin at best, but they did get those samples back from the lab. I requested a copy and it looks like the cells left behind are pretty degraded or contaminated with some bio luminescent. Anyway, the next move is getting the Noah Bracken case moved from missing persons to a suspected homicide.”

“And you think they’ll be successful in reclassifying it?” Alex questioned, turning onto Route 380 to the cabin.

“Yeah. They've been running it as a joint investigation this whole time. It's a little weird that the feds showed up expecting to find a body but maybe they are just ghouls. Anyway, you guys shouldn’t need me unless they find Bracken’s body. That judge won’t rule in our favor twice, since they have that witness to put Michael with Bracken,” Torres sighed, the sound of shuffling paper crackling on the line. “Oh hey, what’s this I hear about you staying in? Retirement is off?”

“One day you're going to have to share your intelligence network with me.” 

“It’s a trade secret. So? Last we talked you were counting the days until you could dye your hair blue and paint your nails again.”

“Okay, first of all,” Alex rolled his eyes at the jab, “I never said anything about dyeing my hair or painting my nails, so that’s just a dirty rumor you’re spreading.”

Torres cleared his throat, and his voice suddenly came in bright and clear. The speakerphone echo dropped in the background. “Seriously Alex, you wanted out, and now you’ve committed to another four years?”

“Seriously,” Alex echoed teasingly, “I need to know how you know these things.” He paused for a minute before continuing, “It hinges on passing some basic physical requirements, but yes, I’m exploring the option of staying in for another commitment. With the private sector luring all our top cyber talent away, the Air Force has a real need for my skills.”

Torres was quiet for a moment, before replying, “Word of advice, when you do talk to your boy about this, don’t trot out that bullshit recruitment party line or else he’s never going to suck your dick again.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, it warms me you’re so concerned about whether my dick gets sucked or not.”

He barked out a laugh, “I haven’t missed you at all, you asshole. All right, you know my number if you need my extremely valuable legal advice, which I will charge you for next time. But the relationship advice is free. Do your best to not get yourself court-martialed in the meantime.”

Alex smiled. “Thank you. I have not told Michael yet, as you so astutely picked up on, so if you break this news before I can, I’ll kill you.”

“I hear you loud and clear, Captain Asshole.”

“Might be Major Asshole soon, we’ll see. But on a genuine note, thank you.” 

There was a brief pause before Torres cleared his throat again. “We’re square. Keep aiming high, buddy.” The line clicked silent.

Alex glanced over to the passenger seat where his newly signed forms rested. If the base scuttlebutt was spreading this fast, he knew he could not put off telling Michael forever. It had only been a couple of days since they had killed that bottle of scotch and with it the tenuous restraint Alex had had in keeping their relationship platonic.

Not that things had gone further sexually since that night. 

The meager distance he had been holding himself back from closing in on was gone. If he wanted to touch Michael, he did, without worrying about building a case for why. The physical had always come so much easier for Alex than articulating his desires. 

It was probably no surprise, that while he did not hold himself back from kissing Michael if the impulse took him, their nebulous relationship still remained undefined. 

The next day, Michael had returned to the cabin after being poked and prodded by Kyle in a tense and brittle mood, hungry for touch but practically mute past discussing dinner options. The mix of keeping a life-long fear of doctors and medical tests throttled down, clashing against the restraint in being civil toward Kyle, wore Michael out completely.

On the other hand, Alex was still thinking about the barely dodged threat of his father that he had uncovered at his childhood home. Closing his eyes and seeing Michael in that cement-reinforced chair being tortured would not leave his thoughts. They had fallen back into bed together to sleep, both clinging to each other for comfort and only trading a soft kiss or two in the dark. 

From there, Michael was gone again before Alex’s uncharacteristic late rising to make up work at Sanders's. Alex ended up spending the day lining up interviews and paperwork from the HR department to cancel his proposed retirement package. He finished his day greeting Michael on the couch with ice and a painkiller high again after a surge of phantom pain caught him by surprise.

He knew that it was not just the one bad habit of falling back into bed with Michael he was indulging. The easy mode of holding on without talking about what they had was a mindset that was built over the years. One moment of not talking slipped into the next, until it was starting to feel that it wasn’t coincidence, but slightly selfish avoidance. They were closing in on almost a month of living together, tackling hard conversations, and he just wanted to enjoy the comfortable détente. 

The contract next to him would undeniably threaten the peace. 

Michael had never hidden his discomfort with the military. The evenings that he arrived home after Michael, still dressed in his ACU fatigues, he noticed a line of tension in Michael’s shoulders and a crease on his forehead, that only disappeared when the uniform was replaced with soft sweatpants and a t-shirt. Despite explaining the comforting rigid structure and leverage over his father that his job afforded him, it remained the 10,000 pound elephant in the room.

The Air Force was Michael’s default reason as to why they had fought so much over the years over the many separations, including the original sin of leaving Roswell in ‘08 but Alex was self-aware enough to know it wasn’t just the overseas tours and wearing the uniform that had kept them apart.

Alex pulled up to the cabin, to find Michael’s truck already there. There was smoke escaping from the chimney, and as he stepped out of his SUV he caught the mouth-watering aroma of grilled meat in the air.

Torres wasn’t exaggerating, Michael was preparing steaks tonight.

He hesitated, glancing over to the thick stack of forms on the passenger seat. It could not hurt to break the news to Michael later, after a full meal and maybe take the chance in turning the newfound ease in kissing into a make-out session on the couch. Maybe even more, later, but that would require another, but wildly different conversation.

“Hey, I guess we’re celebrating,” Alex called into the cabin as he shed his coat, and swept his cap off his head. “Torres called me too, we still have Noah to worry about but this was good news.”

Michael appeared from the kitchen, and frowned a little to take in the crisp lines of the service uniform, the dark coat and pale blue uniform sleeves peeking out. “Yeah, steaks are almost done.” He tilted his head to the side, and waved a hand up and down toward the uniform. “What’s with the monkey suit, Private? You’re usually a GI Joe camo guy.”

“That’s the Army, Guerin.” Alex rolled his eyes, and started to tug his tie loose from his neck, heading toward his bedroom. “Just had some meetings today. Let me get changed and we can eat. It smells amazing,” he called over his shoulder, and started shedding the jacket and tie onto the hanger.

Michael followed him into the bedroom just a step behind, taking a seat on the edge of the bed. He watched with the same creased forehead as Alex conscientiously hung the jacket up and started unbuttoning the long sleeve buttoned shirt. 

Alex met his eyes with an upraised eyebrow as he stood in his undershirt and uniform pants. “Enjoying the show?”

“I think I’m on the record about the fact I do like seeing you naked,” Michael replied, finally, smiling in return. “I wanted to talk to you about something though.”

Alex stripped off his undershirt, tossing it with the uniform shirt into the hamper and started to unbuckle his belt and unzip his heavy wool-blend dark navy pants. He took a deep breath to settle the new nerves. It was likely time for that talk about their relationship and maybe finally get a check in on what Michael wanted, or more importantly, who. 

Standing in his underwear, his prosthetic limb gleaming brightly in the lamp lighting was not exactly the scenario he had pictured. “I figured this was coming. Can I at least put on pants for this conversation?”

Michael gave him another assessing look, and tossed a pair of sweatpants at his head. “Probably wise.” He waited patiently, throwing out a telekinetic assistance to brace Alex’s right side, as he stepped into the sweats after cautiously flexing the fake foot downward through the elastic. 

“Thanks.” Alex did not think he would ever get over Michael now openly using his power to keep him safe from a fall, even if Alex was solidly on two, well, one foot. “You want to talk now or after dinner?”

He pursed his lips in consideration, glancing over Alex’s shoulder to the open wardrobe displaying the neat arrangement of uniforms before refocusing on Alex. “Now’s fine. I mean, it's not a huge thing, just...we haven’t discussed it, since that night.”

Alex took a seat next to him on the bed, their shoulders brushed, and quirked his lips with a lopsided smile. “We were getting better about talking, and then — well.”

“Yeah. I will admit, I kinda been avoiding it.”

“And I’ll admit, I’ve been letting you avoid it.”

They traded glances, Alex’s slow smile spreading to Michael, as Michael looked up from his lashes with a tiny disbelieving shake of his head. He reached out to cover Alex’s hand to squeeze lightly with a noisy exhale. “I don’t know why this is so hard. It's not like I don’t already know how it ends; horribly and painfully.”

That pronouncement froze Alex in place, staring at Michael’s grip on his hand. He thought back to a few nights ago, where Michael had been the one to signal he wanted this. Michael had followed him back to his bedroom to sleep and then had not left since. This time was going to be different, they wanted the same things, didn't they?

Viciously he shoved away the voice that reminded him of the last time he thought Michael wanted what he did and how foolish he had felt leaving the Airstream to find him at the Wild Pony. This time would not end like that. It couldn’t end like that again for him.

Since Rosa had returned, Alex had barely heard a word about or from Maria. Perhaps it was not even the prospect of someone better, someone lighter, that was holding Michael back. Perhaps he was, in this limited circumstance of pretending to be together for the sake of a government conspiracy, finally the easiest option for Michael. Sexually.

It was mathematically efficient just to add sex to what was already going on between them. Share the cooking, the laundry, and orgasms just until the all clear happened. The appalling fact was that Alex was beyond tempted to just accept it.

Enjoy it the same way he had been enjoying the company, gathering the memories to hold when the inevitable end arrived, and he was here alone again. 

Michael squeezed his hand sharply, his smile gone as he studied Alex’s face closely. “Hey, where did you just go?”

Alex licked his suddenly dry lips and shook his head. “Nowhere. Sorry, you were saying?”

A frown crossed his face at Alex’s brush off, and Michael looked like he was considering pressing the question again before he glanced down at their joined hands. “We can’t really avoid it much longer, so… after dinner we should watch more of the Caulfield footage.”

“Oh.” It was good that he had not voiced any of the spiraling thoughts he had just then, keeping the misunderstanding fully internal. Now, was certainly not the time to address where their relationship was going, nor was it the correct time to mention his new renewed agreement with the Air Force. “Of course. Let’s eat, and then maybe sit for a bit before we get into it. Those steaks smell amazing, and it would be a shame to waste them.”

The first video Alex had watched in full had killed his appetite. The second one, where he recognized his father wearing newly minted Staff Sergeant insignia tacked on, was worse. Jesse Manes watching dispassionately while heat was applied to an elderly man’s fingertips and a scientist pointed at a map of the night sky, had sent Alex scrambling for a trashcan after his lunch rebelled.

The casual and not-so-casual cruelty was enough to turn the stomach of anyone, let alone someone with a personal connection to the victims. 

Michael smiled wryly, and stood, using their joined hands to help Alex up. “Good idea.”

Tomorrow would be soon enough to mention his decision with the Air Force. Tonight he needed all of his calm to sit next to Michael and watch while his family carried out tortuous acts on innocents. 

* * * 

A loud crash and tremor shook the floor of the cabin and sent Alex upward with a hand reaching toward his handgun tucked in the space between the headboard and the wall. He had a round chambered and the safety off out of ingrained muscle memory before he realized his phone was silent and Michael was gone from beside him.

The bed sheets were disturbed but cold next to him.

After they had watched several hours of footage, Michael had numbly followed him to bed and wrapped his arms so tightly around Alex, his ribs protesting mildly at the treatment. Alex had started weeping silently into his pillow as he laid there with Michael’s tears trailing down the back of his neck. He did not even remember falling asleep, just closing his eyes in heartbreaking impotent misery and clutching Michael’s hand against his chest. 

Reluctantly he laid the firearm on the night stand and started the process of attaching his leg. Adrenaline was pumping fiercely in his veins, causing his fingers to slip and shake as he gripped the latches to secure the prosthesis. 

He did not call out for Michael, on the off chance there was an intruder inside the house that would be alerted to his position. The security system still showed green lights with all cameras operating normally and no sign of an outsider. 

He stuffed his bare left foot into a sneaker to level out with the prosthetic foot, having no time to dig out a sock and quietly left the bedroom with his gun back in hand. The cabin was quiet at four a.m. Michael’s borrowed bedroom was empty, and looked untouched from a quick glance, but that had been true for the last three or four days. 

The main room of the cabin was empty at first glance, but once again the coffee table was out of place with light peeking out from the revealed staircase to the bunker. 

Alex scanned the kitchen and the small breakfast nook out of caution, before heading down the stairs. Momentarily he debated about holstering his gun, as he suspected whatever just happened in the cabin was something that Michael had done and not an outside force. However, he had made it to the age of 28 in more or less one piece by being overly cautious. 

There was still an alien ship in the bunker to worry about.

The light from the bunker brightened considerably as he made it down to the foot of the stairs. Most of the luminescence was not from the pod lights he had installed in the ceiling when he first renovated the space for use, but instead the light was coming from the main drafting table where the incomplete console rested.

Except it wasn’t incomplete anymore.

Michael was holding the edges of the console, his eyes closed in concentration. He was dressed in the flannel pajama pants pilfered from Alex’s drawer and bare feet. The glow of the console lit up his chest, cascading light over the swells of muscle and darkening the shadow of his chest hair. 

The ceiling where the air register for the heat vent was now had a fresh gaping hole, dislodging the HVAC duct work and dripping yellow strands of insulation. It was obvious that the last piece of the console that Alex had hidden there, had been summoned with great force to meet the rest, cleaving through the ceiling and surrounding ventilation. 

“Guerin…” Alex tucked his gun back into his holster, the weight tugging at the waistband of his sweatpants. “Listen, I can explain.”

Michael stayed motionless, still holding onto the glowing console with both hands. 

Concern set in as he drew closer to Michael with no sign of acknowledgment. Recovering a missing piece of his ship from the cabin, where it was clear that Alex had hidden it away, was sure to spark a reaction from Michael. It was half the reason Alex had stalled on showing it to Michael, they had only just moved past the fragile early conversations of rebuilding their relationship. 

He could tell that Michael wasn’t asleep, even standing up, judging by the rapid movements of his eyes behind the cover of his lids. “Guerin.”

“Michael!” 

Nothing. 

Alex glanced around the bunker, the screens from the computer system and the server were black. Nothing had moved since they had finished scanning footage from 2015. He chose a much later year in the hope that it would only be boring hallway footage, broken up with only the occasional blood test drawn. 

Cautiously Alex drew close to Michael, keeping one eye on the glowing console before reaching up with his finger tips to find Michael’s carotid pulse. Heat poured off Michael’s skin, more than even what Alex had learned was normal temperature for an alien. Already sweat was beaded on his forehead and dampening the curls at the back of his neck. Alex kept his hand in place, locking his brain into the task of counting out Michael’s heartbeat.

The possible people he could call to help were limited to three. Liz, Isobel and Kyle, and yet none of them had experience with alien artifacts. The only expert in all things alien was currently locked into a trance and unresponsive.

Isobel might be able to break into Michael’s mind, except she had needed his help last time to coax Michael’s defenses down and after the last two encounters, Alex was in no hurry to invite her back into his brain. It was going to be dangerous enough to tell her that something was wrong with Michael, and no doubt she would fully lay the blame at his feet. That option could wait until it was determined that something harmful was going on with Michael, and not just that he was standing still and ignoring people.

If, or when he called Isobel, his next call would be to Kyle because he had shown to have a better skill in calming Isobel into non-lethal conduct. 

As he counted the even, steady beat of Michael’s heart, he realized he had no idea what a normal heart rate was for Michael or his species. If Alex texted Kyle at, he squinted at his phone, 4:30 in the morning to ask what the normal resting pulse was for an alien, there was little doubt his friend would not immediately drive over to the cabin.

The final option was Liz. She was a scientist, and had a steady, no-nonsense way of handling any crisis that was unrelated to Max Evans or Rosa. However, without a decent laboratory, what could Liz do but what he was already doing? Monitoring pulse and breath rates. Checking to see if verbal or physical stimulus garnered a response.

Alex glanced at his phone again and set a mental deadline for assistance. Michael would need to eat breakfast, so if he did not wake up by then, he would call in the limited cavalry. He was not sure what he would do if there wasn’t a solution, so he firmly kept that thought down and concentrated on watching the slow even breathing. Matching his inhales to Michael kept his anxiety mostly in check.

He pulled his desk chair over to the table and sat down to wait.

The glow of the console was static, with the symbols he had once noted and scanned for Kyle were fully lit up and frozen in place. He snapped a picture with his phone and sent it to his server. If he was going to wait, he might as well be productive and attempt to work on decoding the language. Pattern recognition and repeating variables were the key to any code, and an unknown alphabet was simply a cipher without a key.

An hour passed, and then a second with no movement from Michael. Alex had moved on from the language cryptography into a rousing game of Twinfold on his phone, after he found his eyes drifting away from his work to check on Michael every five minutes. 

He was stretching to relieve the stiffness from sitting too long in the chair, when he became aware of movement out of the corner of his eye. 

Michael was shifting his hands back, releasing the console with a slow soft sigh before his eyes fluttered open. He gazed straight at Alex, licking his lips with a grimace, before staggering sideways to land hard on the ground.

Alex pushed himself away from the chair to dive down to the floor attempting to intercept Michael’s fall, his right knee barking loudly in protest of the action. “Michael! Michael, god…” His hands fluttered uselessly, touching Michael’s shoulder and stroking his face. His knee and leg ached as he shifted to cradle Michael’s head in his lap. 

“Fuck,” Michael breathed, his eyes closed but clearly aware this time. “Goddammit Alex.”

“Are you okay?” Alex winced, as Michael started to push away his touch, struggling to right himself on the floor on his own. “Take it easy!”

“Fuck off,” he croaked weak low voice. “I’m so fucking mad at you right now.”

That was both a fair and also unjust assertion to make to Alex. 

“Seriously? You’re telling me to fuck off? You’re the one who just scared ten years off my life. You’ve been in some upright coma state! I didn't know if you were going to wake up! I didn’t know what I was going to do if you didn’t,” Alex shot back, stung. The stress of his fear melted instantly into anger as the adrenaline of the unknown slipped away. “Who am I going to call for an alien ship coma? Isobel? She's ready to melt my brain already. You fuck off, I’m mad at you!”

They both stared at each other, Alex gulping in air to try to calm the sudden rage that had taken over, with an attempt at measured breathing while Michael frowned at him in annoyed bewilderment.

“I don’t know about any of that.” Michael rubbed at his eyes and swallowed again, wetting his lips absently. “One moment I was touching the console and thinking about my mom, and wishing I had more time with her, and the next, your insulation is getting dragged out because the console is calling the missing piece. Then nothing, just seeing your face in the next instant.” He turned his head to stare up at the gaping hole in the ceiling and heating vent. “You were so proud of telling me you renovated this room, so I know it wasn’t an accident it was up there. This piece, you had it, you’ve always had it and you hid it from me. Why?”

It was Alex’s turn to swallow hard, “I know. I know I was wrong to hide it.”

“Let me guess, you were trying to find the right time to tell me? It’s the fucking Caulfield drives all over again. You making decisions for me again to protect me. I fucking hate that, and you know it. You can’t control things by limiting information, Alex.”

“NO! It’s not like that at all.”

“No?” Michael looked skeptical, gesturing toward the computer setup and the darkened monitors where the hard drives were still neatly stacked and ordered by date. “It seems a little like that.”

“That was different. I was trying to protect you from seeing those awful images. But this,” Alex gestured up from the floor toward the table where the console was no longer glowing brightly, just quiescently shimmering under the bunker pod lights. “I held onto that piece because I was trying to protect me.”

“Protect you from what?”

“From you,” Alex replied softly, and then winced as Michael reared back from him, as if Alex had struck him physically with his words. He shook his head in denial, and rushed to continue, “From you leaving me, specifically.”

“What? Are you kidding me?” Michael rolled his eyes in a caustic disbelief. “Historically I’m not the leaver here.”

“I know! Just hear me out okay? I found this piece a while ago, before I even knew about you. It’s actually what led me to figure out what my dad was up to in Roswell.” Alex pushed himself awkwardly to his feet, noting distantly that for once he did not feel the strong assistance of Michael’s power as he staggered upright. Carefully he tucked that thought away, to be mourned later after they got through this fight. If they got through this fight. 

He walked gingerly over to the wall, where there was a minute difference in color and outline in the paint finish. “I discovered the bunker, and then found the piece in this wall here. Jim Valenti hid it inside and drywalled around it.”

Michael watched him closely as he listened to the explanation without comment. 

“Then I confronted my dad about aliens, and I learned he was stalking you. I was able to send him to a 12-week assignment in Africa but that was just temporary. He’d be back, and I wasn’t sure if he would let his obsession go, even in the face of losing his career.” Alex smiled without humor, “He’s never changed his mind in the past.”

“Right, you were afraid he was going to do something to me.” Michael stood from the floor and brushed off his flannel pajama pants, deliberately keeping his eyes trained downward. “I get it, you had to stay away from me in order to protect me. Which, I do not agree with at all, but whatever. Fast-forward to the part where you decide to hold clues to my history hostage.”

Alex licked his lips nervously, and walked over to the table to where the console shined. “No one is more aware of how I’ve fucked up with you, than me.” He forced a weak smile, even as Michael’s face closed off. It was the same reaction from their dinner out when he mentioned their past and in particular his past failings. He knew his window for explanation was narrowing. “Remember when I showed up at your trailer and I told you I wanted to know everything about you? So we could start over, leave all that bullshit in the past, and just be together?”

Michael shook his head in a wounded confusion, “No, no, you said you wanted to start over and be friends, you do not get to rewrite history like this.”

Well that was the validation Alex had always suspected, that Michael had not understood what Alex had meant that afternoon at Sanders's. Starting over and filling in the blanks was not meant as an ending of their relationship, it was meant as the way forward to a healthier dynamic.

“I had the piece with me then. I wasn’t even sure you would trust me, and maybe a small part of me still thought the idea of you being an alien was insane. But you did, and I thought, okay, I still have a chance with you. And then you showed me this,” Alex swept his hand in front of the console, “and I knew that I was on borrowed time. You could leave the planet and there would be no second, or third, or even fourth chance to get this right.”

“Then you left that day,” Michael scoffed dismissively. “You can understand how I'm having a hard time believin’ this right? How was I supposed to realize you even wanted a second chance with how fast you bolted?”

“I know,” Alex replied quietly. “I’m not good in the moment. I just- I fuck it up.”

Michael rested his hand on the console, ignoring the sharp inhale of alarm from Alex and bit his lower lip as the lights on the console skated over their skin. “So you kept that piece because you thought I was serious about leavin’? Do you see an intact spaceship parked anywhere?” 

“You’re a literal genius.”

“And you’re a dumbass, Alex. It will take years before I can acquire the kind of materials I need to make a vehicle that can resist atmospheric friction, not to mention the fuel source I would need just to hit escape velocity. I live in a trailer! I have spent one week out of every four hungry ever since I was a kid. Fucking NASA has a 20 billion dollar budget, and they can barely figure out how to get to Mars.”

Nothing that Michael said was incorrect. It certainly wasn’t anything different from what he had told himself that afternoon when he fled to the Wild Pony to drown his sorrows. Intellectually he knew Michael was not going to leave in the next moment. He was not sure how to explain how he felt knowing how badly Michael wanted to leave just when Alex was considering staying. 

Alex had spent every minute of his life yearning to be free and fighting against every attempt to hold him down. He felt sick knowing he had knowingly held Michael hostage to this planet by keeping the piece but he had done it regardless. Michael had been too important to lose.

“Well, it’s like you said, I’m the expert in leaving.” He twisted his lips in a semblance of a smile, “I had just learned you had slept with my best friend and you were working on a way to leave orbit, how else was I supposed to react?”

“I don’t know, I guess I didn’t really think you’d care,” Michael paused, shrugging carelessly, “about either of those things.”

“Now we’re back to the ways in which I’ve fucked up with you.” Alex braved a hand on Michael’s arm. “I care about both of those things. I'm trying to come to terms with you moving on from me and that’s not going great, okay? This limbo we’re in, it hurts, but it’s nothing compared to what you leaving the planet will do to me.”

Michael blinked a few times forcefully as his eyes started to glisten. “Really?”

Alex tightened his grip on Michael’s arm, as he dug down for the words. He knew this was usually the point where he backed off and let things be understood instead of implicitly being said. The second, third, and fourth chances to get this right kept slipping away from him. 

It would be stupid to waste another moment. 

“It would kill me, Michael. I know I left in the past, with deployments and training rotations, but I was always going to come back. Even after the IED hit, I pulled a belt off my dead friend and killed my right foot just so I could live long enough to come back to you.” Alex swallowed hard, forcing the grief back down his throat. “I was prepared to hack the DMV once my assignment to Roswell was over just to track you down. But I can’t hack a spaceship, so I kept the piece from you. I’m sorry.”

A tear finally streaked down Michael’s face as he let go of the console and turned to put his arms around Alex. “God you’re such a fucking asshole.”

The sentiment was in direct opposition to the tight embrace Michael pulled him into, before he leaned back to meet Alex’s eyes. His hands trailed from Alex’s waist and glided up to cup his jaw, holding his face close, so he tipped his forehead against Alex’s. “Such a fucking asshole,” Michael repeated wetly.

“Does that mean you forgive me?” Alex ventured tentatively, soaking in his touch greedily.

“Depends. Is there anything else you’re hiding that I don’t know about?”

The signed paperwork that was still in his Explorer came immediately into Alex’s mind. The new commitment to extend his time in the Air Force for another four years, would certainly go over as well as the hidden piece of the console, only with less damage to the ceiling and heating duct work. 

The pause extended between them, until Michael sighed heavily at the knowledge and let go of Alex’s face to back away in retreat. “Well that’s a yes. How bad is it? Like on a scale of one to ten, and ten being Caulfield.”

“Where does the hidden spaceship piece fall on that scale?”

“A solid 7.”

Alex opened his mouth to answer, when his security alert rang out loudly from his phone. Someone had triggered the cameras at the turn to his driveway. Swearing under his breath, he swiped his phone off the drafting table and opened the feed of the footage.

This morning he would have named Isobel’s Infiniti or Maria’s red Chevy as the worst case scenario visitors, but that just showed he had a real lack of imagination as he watched a black sedan with blue and white government tags turn onto his gravel driveway. Michael crowded next to his shoulder, and echoed his swear. 

“Well a home visit can’t be good.” Michael glanced down at his bare chest and thin pajama pants and attempted to flex for admiration. “If they arrest me, make sure you bring me some clothes.”

“Not funny.” Alex shoved his phone in his pocket, and rearranged the weight of his gun holster in the waistband of his sweatpants. “Guess it could be worse, you could be still zoned out with the spaceship. Come on, we have approximately five minutes to get upstairs and move the table back in place before one of these government dicks is on the porch.”

“This conversation isn’t over, Alex,” Michael warned, following him up the stairs. He bent gracefully to drop the hatch into place and then rolled the rug over it with his telekinesis. The two of them moved the coffee table into place, before Michael dropped himself onto the couch, looking suddenly like a sex-rumpled temptation with his curls wildly astray and chest shining with the faintest sheen of exertion.

“No, I know it’s not. Believe it or not, I've got a few more things to say.” 

***

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update Friday night, or early Saturday morning.


	15. Chapter 15

Strategically, Alex decided that it would look better if Michael greeted the government agent at the door, cementing the level of comfort that someone living there would have, while Alex started brewing a pot of coffee in the kitchen. He found one of Michael's plaid shirts hanging off the kitchen chair to pull on over his Air Force t-shirt and sweatpants. Thankfully he had taken the time to put on his leg after his early morning alien wake up call. 

He listened to the purposeful heavy knock on the door, reminiscent of someone used to being ignored and then kicking the door in anyway. Michael, still shirtless, opened it with a faux greeting, “Agent Ross! What an unexpected treat, and without your charming partner Agent Rollins.” Michael paused and bellowed for show, “Alex! We've got company!”

Alex closed his eyes and worked to hide his smile, as the coffee pot perked to the end. Michael had the level of subtlety that was born for community theater. He set three mugs on a tray, and grabbed the carton of creamer and bag of sugar before filling the cups from the pitcher.

He walked steadily into the room, and felt the unnatural lightening of the tray which meant Michael was using his telekinesis to help out. There was, he had learned over the years, no way to glare Michael into obedience. Silently he noted that he would really hate it if Michael ended up in a laboratory cut into pieces just because he was worried Alex would drop a coffee cup. 

“Agent Ross, I just made coffee, if you’re interested,” he greeted with forced calm, placing the tray on the coffee table. 

Michael quirked both eyebrows in lascivious invitation, patting the couch next to him. “We just managed to drag ourselves out of bed.” He wrapped an arm around Alex, once he was seated next to him, and pressed a quick open-mouthed kiss against his jaw. “My baby here is useless before his first cup of joe, so tread lightly.”

Alex dropped a hand on Michael’s knee and squeezed it, two shades of force past a gentle acknowledgment. Michael raised his eyebrow at Alex in return before reading the warning with a twist of his smile. 

Where his partner Agent Rollins was thick around the middle with a receding hairline and the soft paunch in his face that signaled a life behind a desk more often than not, his partner Agent Ross was thin, with a no-nonsense haircut and a posture that spoke of some discipline in Ross's background. The only true signal of age was the peppering of silver at his temples and the lines on his forehead. His mouth was flat, neither quick to smile, nor to sneer.

Agent Ross folded himself into the facing armchair and reached for a cup of coffee, keeping it black. He was dressed in a suit, despite the Saturday morning, with a splattering of mud on his cuffs the only sign of untidiness. “Thank you, Captain Manes. Sorry to barge in on you this morning.” His tone revealed an even delivery with no hint of apology, while his eyes scanned the surroundings with interest. 

Michael pressed a cup of coffee into his hand, already prepared the way Alex liked it. He accepted it with a smile, before turning to the agent. “What brings you this way?”

“Hmm, straight to the point.”

“I’m almost an hour away from the town, Agent Ross. No one just happens by.” Alex sipped from his cup, feeling the comforting weight and heat of Michael’s arm. 

“It’s definitely off the grid out here. My GPS took me on a journey twice. Although, it was a pretty drive, no neighbors to bother you,” Agent Ross replied blandly. “Of course, that means it’s hard to get a corroborating witness to your movements.”

“What’s the saying, you can’t prove a negative?” Michael countered.

Agent Ross lifted his cup in acknowledgment. “True. Anyway, I came out here to talk to you about something not entirely related to the questions surrounding Mr. Guerin here. When we met, your name was really familiar to me, and then I realized, you were one of Jesse Manes’s boys.”

It took a substantial amount of control not to react, even though Michael was suddenly rigid against his side. Alex took another slow sip from his cup, before responding. “I wasn’t aware you knew the Master Sergeant.”

“We served together actually. Of course, he was a Staff Sergeant then. It was at a base a little north of here.” Agent Ross turned and stared closely at Michael. Alex clung to his composure as he could feel Michael growing more and more tense next to him. “I can’t really talk about what we did, classified you know. It's interesting, I actually think I've been to this cabin before too. Your dad and I did a bit of hunting off-duty with a friend of his he grew up with, Jimmy something.”

Alex exhaled deliberately and lifted the corners of his mouth in a mimicry of polite listening, as his mind started to pull details together. This entire time he had considered Agent Rollins as being the person connected with Project Shepherd with his unhidden disgust regarding queer people and his dogged determination that Michael was someone dangerous. Agent Ross with his unassuming style and unremarkable reactions was the greater threat as it turned out. 

“Well what a small world,” he finally replied, before turning to Michael’s frozen expression. With gentle care he rubbed his fingers around the steel-tight muscles on Michael’s leg. “Agent Ross is a fellow airman and a friend of my father’s.”

“Jesse was a great guy, and a good hunter.” Agent Ross nodded toward the deer head over the fireplace. “Did your father ever take you hunting? I’m taking the real big game targets, not the overfed weekend game reserves where it takes no skill to outwit those poor simple creatures.” 

“He tried,” Alex answered evenly. “When I was a kid. It wasn’t really my thing.”

“No stomach for it?” Ross asked, a hint of mocking in his voice. 

“I guess you could say that. I couldn’t help but picture the families involved with all my dad’s targets. What if they left young behind and then never came back?” He smiled, tilting his head with careful self-deprecation. “I guess watching Bambi at a young age was very formative. If caring too much is a crime, lock me up.” Alex lifted his hand off Michael’s leg to offer a pair of upturned wrists to the agent.

“That’s cute, but you have to keep in mind that there’s such a thing as responsible hunting. Sometimes you have to kill or contain a predator before they hunt a population to extinction. Your dad understood that.” Agent Ross placed his coffee cup back on the tray, “Speaking of Jesse, I was hoping to catch up with him since this case has brought me back into the area. Do you have his number?”

“I believe he’s in Niger at the moment. I don’t really know, we don’t exactly see eye-to-eye.” Alex leaned back against Michael’s arm and tipped his head up to press his own soft kiss on Michael’s jaw with emphasis. “He can’t accept the fact I’m gay and that Michael is the best thing that’s ever happened to me. You get to a point where you’re tired of hearing the same old Westboro bullshit rant and you just stop talking.”

Agent Ross nodded in agreement. “My partner is of the same mindset. Me? I don’t care about that whole man lying with other men crap, my philosophy is simple- you can stick your dick anywhere you like, as long as you keep to the same species and you leave the kids alone.” He turned toward Michael, “Wouldn’t you agree, Mr. Guerin?”

Michael startled at the inclusion, before replying with a drawl, “Hey, it’s a free world as long as everyone is a consenting adult.” He threaded his fingers with Alex’s, bringing their joined hands together and met the look of Agent Ross steadily. “Jesse ain’t exactly my biggest fan, and vice versa, so you probably made this long drive for nothin’.”

“Perhaps. I tried to reach him through official channels. The Air Force was never really forthcoming, but they were even more closemouthed than usual. So begging your pardon, your dad doesn’t have the background for spec-op work, not to mention he is about 15 years too old for it. I thought maybe his family might have a clue what's going on, I guess it’s my mistake on that.” Agent Ross turned to Alex. “I checked with his neighbors, one of them mentioned seeing you and that nice grey Explorer parked in front of the house. You're sure you haven’t heard from him?”

“Like I said, as far as I know he’s in Niger. I did drive by the house to check to make sure he took care of the lawn and the newspapers.”

“See, now that’s a nice thing to do for family, even if you’re estranged. Might be hope for you and Jesse yet.” Agent Ross slapped on his thighs and got to his feet. “Well if you hear from him, let him know I’m in town and wouldn’t mind going on another huntin’ trip with him. I'll even dress the kill for him.”

Alex rose to his feet, leaving Michael sprawled on the couch to follow Agent Ross to the door. “I doubt I will hear from him before you, but I’ll pass that along.”

“Uh huh. Oh hey, before I go, congratulations on your upcoming promotion to Major.” He extended a hand toward Alex. “A smart guy like you, you could have made a ton of money in the private sector, so I admire your commitment to duty and signing on for another four years.” Agent Ross read the hastily covered surprise on Alex’s face and continued with a wink. “In certain circles it’s all anyone can talk about, the youngest Manes boy following in his daddy’s footsteps in Roswell.”

“It’s um, not official yet,” Alex replied, not daring to look behind him at Michael. Of all the ways this news could land, this was certainly one of the worst.

“Roswell is a special assignment, it needs a Manes here. Trust me son, it’s a done deal.” Agent Ross paused in the doorway and looked back past Alex to Michael. “Oh, in the spirit of family ties let me give you a head’s up, Mr. Guerin. We had a pair of tourists camping out by Cowboy Ruckus, I guess they wanted to watch the meteor shower. I dunno, they dropped a lot of words about light pollution, Instagram atmosphere but anyway, long story short, their dog found a body in a ravine. Judging by the Italian leather loafers, I think it might be the long-lost Noah Bracken.”

The agent turned to Alex with a wave as he stepped off the wooden porch. “Cheating husbands don’t tend to go wandering into ravines with nice shoes. So my guess, there's gonna be some more questions headed your way. Just F- Y- I,” he finished with a sly smile as he dragged out each letter with emphasis. 

Alex held the door open, watching as the agent reversed skillfully out of the gravel parking and drove down the shaded drive toward the main road. He closed his eyes and took a deep breath in before turning to face Michael with his stone-faced expression.

“Just so you know that’s not level 7 news, Alex. That’s a fucking 11.”

***

Alex dug out his phone from his sweatpants to verify the retreat of Agent Ross. Once the car disappeared off the surveillance video, he held up his fingers to his mouth to silence Michael and then proceeded to search the chair the agent had taken. His fingers ran along the inside and outside the chair and coffee table and came up with nothing. “Okay. We’re clear.”

“A little paranoid there?”

“Yes,” Alex said, unapologetic and sat down in the vacated chair to face Michael. “I told you Project Shepherd was involved in this, well that guy just proved it. It wasn’t just the lying witness, one of the actual investigators is targeting you. Fuck, that base north of here where he served at with my dad? He was talking about Caulfield.”

Michael flinched at the mention, before closing his eyes wearily. “I figured with all his talk about hunting with Jesse Manes, he meant aliens and not like rabbits.” He rolled his wrist gracefully, beckoning toward Alex. “Let’s get back to what he said about you and the Air Force.”

“I was going to tell you.”

“Alex, I’m really, fucking, _really_ getting tired of hearing you say that.” Michael pushed his hands against the couch, standing up to pick up the tray of coffee mugs to return to the kitchen. “Let me guess, you’re staying in because of me.” 

Alex followed him into the kitchen cautiously, as he watched Michael empty the cups down the drain and start to wash them by hand vigorously. The sound of the water was loud in the tense silence between them. “It’s the only way. I can’t keep my dad in a pod indefinitely and I need to be in a strong position in Roswell, not just to protect you, but Isobel, Max, and let’s not forget, Rosa. Reanimated dead girls can bring just as much trouble. ”

His back stayed toward Alex, as he turned the taps to cold and rinsed the mugs clean. Michael ripped the dish towel free of the rack near the stove and started to dry them meticulously one by one. 

“I told you that I wanted to win battles, well, the Air Force and renewing my commission is how I do that.” 

Michael glanced at him fleetingly, before setting the mugs in the cabinet and started toward the refrigerator. “We never had breakfast, I didn’t see you take your pills either, so-”

“Guerin, please.”

He pulled out the carton of eggs from the shelf and shot a narrowed look at Alex. “Oh, so I’m ‘Guerin’ again. It’s funny, if I’m breaking down, or there’s a stranger watching us, I’m ‘Michael’, but the minute that’s over, I’m Guerin. That some sort of coping mechanism you learned in therapy? Can you teach it to me, so I know to address you as Alex or I guess the new Major Manes?”

“All right, Michael, then.” Alex watched as he pulled out the skillet and a bowl, and started angrily cracking the eggs so hard against the edge that bits of shell dripped into the yolks. Michael swore under his breath and started picking the shell out with his telekinesis. Calmly Alex continued, “I know you’ve never liked the military, that you don’t see the good that can be done in that uniform-.”

“I’m an alien. You can’t exactly blame me for seeing a threat there. We’ve got like what, 40 years or more of video footage proving that right down stairs.” Michael beat the yolks with a fork, staring down at the mixing bowl before setting it down to open the refrigerator a second time to remove a green pepper, a block of cheese and a package of sliced ham. “Nice fraternity of friends to have there.”

“No, I get that, but I don’t think that’s why you are mad.”

Michael pulled the cutting board down with a heavy thunk, and used his telekinesis to pull a large knife from the block, winging it across the kitchen to slap the handle into his palm. “I’m not mad.” He smiled without teeth, and drawled mockingly, “I’m disappointed.”

Exasperated, Alex threw up his hands in defeat. “Well me too. I'm disappointed, I thought we were past this. I thought, foolishly, that the last few days meant we were on the same page again.”

“Alex, I’m constantly playing catch up here, how can we be on the same page? I don’t even know the book.” Michael gestured with the knife, pausing in the middle of cutting up the pepper and ham. “How long have you been hiding that new contract?”

“I wasn’t hiding it-”

“So not as long as my ship piece, but long enough. Since we started sharing a bed again?” 

Alex swallowed hard, trying to come up with a response that wasn’t quite so damning as the ‘yes’ that was the answer.

“Of course. I knew there had to be a catch, just didn’t think it was bribery.” Michael sighed, returning to chopping the ingredients up with harsh movements. “I’ve traded sex for things I’ve needed in the past, but you’ve always been the better person here.”

“That’s not what happened-”

“Blowjobs are not the worst way to soften bad news. Let me know the next time you don’t want to make a trash run, I’ll let you have my ass, sweetheart.”

The ugly words hung in the air between them. Like the blast from a shotgun, precise aim wasn’t necessary to take down a target, just direction.

Alex closed his eyes at the blow, taking a deep breath to hold inside. Expanding his chest, stretching his rib cage, spoke to a different and opposite message that his heart was giving him, which was to shrink in tightly, to run and hide. “Okay. Okay, Michael. There was no catch. No ulterior motive, but If it makes you feel better to blame the service as the reason we never worked, you can. I just want you to remember this moment.” 

He left the kitchen, leaving Michael at the stove looking down at the cutting board and headed for his bedroom and bathroom. It was undeniable that he had not taken his meds yet today, not to mention he had neglected his morning physical therapy when the 4 a.m. blast had shuttled him from bed in a panic. 

It took a moment for Alex’s hands to grip the caps of his prescription bottles properly, for the slight shaking to subside. Half of his brain was occupied in reasonably pointing out to him that Michael had lots of long-lasting untreated trauma that centered on being abandoned, and he was only a month out of losing his mother and his brother. Therapy had taught Alex that it was perfectly in line with an attachment disorder to strike out at the first suggestion of further loss, and the uniform had always been the symbol of leaving. 

The other half of his brain was unhelpfully escalating his anxious thoughts. The well-worn path of his negativity started with the consideration, that he was the one who got his hopes up, that Michael had never promised him anything in this fake relationship stunt and it finished with the idea he had read into it too far and blurred the lines between them, looking for something that he wanted to find. 

Confirmation bias had tiptoed into his mind and turned his heart toward foolish directions.

He was never going to be the right person for Michael, his brain unsympathetically told him. They could love each other, and Alex knew that Michael did love him, and still not be good for each other. 

Michael saw exits in every open door that Alex had deliberately made to give him space in this alibi. 

Alex swallowed his pills mechanically, chasing the standard dose down with a gulp of tap water from his cupped hands. He made an aborted reach toward his anti-anxiety medication, considering just for a moment that perhaps he should double it in the wake of spiralling thoughts. Perhaps it was time for another scheduled session with his therapist.

He stepped back into his bedroom, and stopped short, finding Michael sitting on his bed. 

“I’m sorry.” Michael glanced down at his hands before looking up, pained regret clear in his eyes. “I shouldn't have said that.” He looked back down again. “I know you wouldn’t use sex like that. You’re better than that.”

Alex sighed, before walking over to sit next to Michael. He kept his eyes on the same patch of floor that Michael was staring at intently. “Thank you. Apology accepted.” 

“And you’re right, I do see the Air Force as the reason we haven’t worked out before.” Michael blinked a few times, and continued, his voice wavering in effort, “I’m sorry, but I hate your job. I hate the uniform. I hate that I’m back here again, like I’m 18 all over again, begging uselessly for you to stick around.”

“It won’t be like that this time.” Alex licked his lower lip nervously, pushing down the old painful memories of that summer. “I don’t want to apologize for liking my job, I told you that I found a valuable purpose and structure in the Air Force.”

Michael stayed silent, raising his gaze from the floor to his left hand and started to rub at the stretch of skin over his knuckles carelessly. 

Alex clocked the self-soothing habit distractedly, before continuing, “I put in to take over the Roswell assignment, so I’m not going anywhere.”

“You’re taking over for your dad.”

“That’s my intent. My dad served consistently in Roswell my whole life, which is not the case in a military assignment and is highly unusual unless you know about aliens. I've made it known to certain circles that I want to embrace the Manes legacy.” He made a face at the idea of being anything like his forebears. “In exchange for the access and resources, I’ll obviously have to be on the alert for an alien invasion, but I’ll be able to manage that. Do the type of damage control that keeps everyone safe.”

“You know that for a fact?” Michael asked, wariness in his voice. “That you’ll get to be in charge?”

“Nothing is certain, but I think it's likely I'll get my pick of assignments. I'll be in for another four years, wearing that uniform you hate.” He reached over to cover Michael’s restless rubbing of his left hand with a warm clasp. “Just try to see the advantages that this can bring. The military had 70 years to study the crash, when I can get access, I could see if there’s an answer to saving Max.”

“And if it there isn’t? You really think that it’s worth four more years of your life?”

“I do. It’s worth it to me. Just try and trust me.”

Michael looked down at their joined hands, and then met his gaze tentatively. “I have a hard time trusting anything or anyone, but I’m trying. I just- I don’t think I could live with myself if somethin’ happened to you because you did this for me. And I can’t trust the Air Force will keep you safe.” 

“Nothing is going to happen to me, and nothing is going to happen to you, or Isobel, or anyone I care about. I can keep you safe and everyone safe, if I do this.”

“You’re just so stubborn, and you think all of this is some weight you have to carry, but it’s not. I want to trust you, that you won’t do somethin’ stupid out of martyrdom, okay? I’m trying to believe that.”

“I know you are.” Alex took a deep breath to gather his resolve before pulling back his hand from Michael to gain separation. “I’m trying here too. To be open. So we should talk about what’s next. Between us.”

The short-lived relaxation in Michael vanished as he froze. “Somehow I don’t think you’re talking about having breakfast.”

“I’m trying to be honest with myself lately and I recognize that I let myself get comfortable. Too comfortable and I shouldn’t have-”

“Alex-” 

“I feel like I took advantage of the situation, and- you’re still grieving. I just think we should go back to the way things were before...” Alex steadied himself in the face of the growing wounded expression on Michael’s face and forced himself to meet his gaze. “Before things got muddied between us.”

Michael raked his teeth across his lower lip, looking mulish. “You’re not serious.” He studied Alex’s face for a moment and turned away. “Fuck me, you are serious.” There was an aged weary tone of resignation in his voice, as if this was something he had long expected. “Clue me into that mythical time where things were clear and unmuddied between us.”

“No, you’re right, it’s never been easy between us, but we were getting good at being friends, weren’t we?”

Michael pursed his lips together and shrugged. “Yeah.”

“Look, that thing you said earlier, you used something personal that happened between us in an argument.” Alex looked down briefly before he laughed with an edge, “It just made me realize that _this_ ,” he gestured between them with his fingers, “wasn’t a good idea while there’s a threat out there. Now more than ever we need to be careful to look united and to do that, we should probably keep things on the level. Not mix the real with fake.” 

He swallowed hard, listening to Alex babble nervously in explanation. As the words trailed off, a world-worn exhaustion swept over Michael’s face as he stared at Alex searchingly. Finally, coming to a silent decision, he nodded and got up from Alex’s bed. “Got it.”

“Michael. I'm just trying to do what's best for us.”

“Say no more, Alex. I understand.” He bent to pick up a few stray items of his clothing from Alex’s room, and stalked out of the room. He tossed over his shoulder in an offhand voice, “Your breakfast is warming in the oven. I’m gonna head to the garage, finish up a couple jobs for Mr. Sanders. Gotta keep up those appearances.”

Alex watched him leave, forlorn and feeling off-balanced as he heard the noises of Michael picking up his keys and the quiet click of the front door. The thick growl of the Chevy revved to life outside the window. He closed his eyes, listening to the engine idle for long moments. 

He should follow Michael outside. 

The feeling churning inside was familiar to how he felt when Michael had grabbed his arm, catching him at the Wild Pony with a breathless question about if this was really how it was going to end between them. Alex had sat in his SUV for several moments, staring at the door, willing himself to go back inside and take it all back. 

Fear had stopped him then. 

He should get up and wave down the truck, but before he could move toward the door, he heard the crunch of gravel as the truck reversed and left the driveway.

A small quiet thought stayed with him, as he moved numbly through the cabin, it wasn’t Michael he was trying to protect just then, but himself and Michael had known it.

***

For all of Michael’s words about keeping up appearances, it did not surprise Alex at all that he did not come back to the cabin that night. After ten o’clock he received a message from Maria letting him know that Michael was at her apartment and would be staying the night, he was too drunk to drive.

It was not a request for Alex to come and retrieve Michael.

Alex took in a deep breath, and tossed the melted bag of ice onto the coffee table. He had spent his day off looking up exercises and researching athletic blades in preparation for his appointment with his prosthetist next week. As the hours clicked by and Michael’s disappearance to work started to look more and more like outright avoidance, Alex decided to fill the hours with strength training.

Every muscle screamed in protest but the physical pain made for a nice distraction. 

Since Michael was staying put for the night, Alex cracked open his bottle of painkillers and dry swallowed his ‘bad day’ dose without a worry. 

He held his phone in one hand, locking and unlocking the screen restlessly. He managed a simple “thanks” to Maria before he pulled up Kyle’s contact. After a moment of hesitation, he opened their Signal-app conversation to type, **“I’m a moron.”**

There was a moment of three dots, before Kyle’s response popped up. **“That’s not my experience. You’re a genius code-breaker. Commissioned officer. All around badass ready to hide a body at the moment’s notice.”**

He hesitated again, before leaning into the self-pitying feelings. If he could not express this to Kyle, then who could he? It's not like he could talk to Maria about it. Not with Michael at her apartment. God he hoped they were being careful in hiding. **“Okay, I’m those things and still a moron. I messed up again with Michael.”**

**“???? Again?”**

**“Pushed him away and he knows it.”**

**“Dude. You have home field advantage!!”**

**“I know. I’m defective. He also found out I’m staying in. Probably going to be a Major soon.”**

**“Congrats dude! But you’re not defective. Other than your taste in dudes.”**

**“Thanks. I'm going to die alone but highly ranked.”**

**“I can solve this problem.”**

Alex cracked a smile, shifted his aching hip on the couch as he typed, **“Please do.”**

**“Stop being in love with him and date someone else. Or get a dog. Preferably both.”**

**“I did have a psychic tell me I was going to get a beagle.”**

**“I love beagles!!!!”** For someone who was at the top of his class in med school, Kyle Valenti used way too many punctuation marks. 

**“Thanks.”** Alex rested his phone on his chest, looking around at his cabin. The interior decorations were still largely the legacy of Jim Valenti, but here and there were marks of Michael’s presence. A physics textbook. A repair book for automotive electronics. A framed picture of Michael sat on the shelf next to the few framed honors Alex had displayed, of Michael with his siblings cheesing at the camera that looked like it dated back to high school.

His phone text chime startled him from the drug induced daze, and he read Kyle’s latest update to their conversation. **“Hang in there. He’s not dumb. He will see thru you. You are not good at faking anything.”**

Alex bit his lip, before replying, **“It’s been 10 years of never being on the right page.”**

**“!!!!10?!!! Okay you are gonna die alone. Sorry bro. Definitely get the dog.”**

**“Told you I was a moron.”** Alex finished typing, before replying with a goodnight. 

He stared up at the ceiling, enjoying the floating disconnect as his screaming nerves slowly lost the bite of pain and settled into a heavy warm calm snaking through his body.

The conversation he had with Michael after that rough reveal was on an endless loop in his mind. Michael had apologized, and one part of him said he should have leaned in and properly made up with him instead of backing away, hiding behind his insecurity. And another part of him reminded him of how Michael had gone for the personal in a moment of triggered abandonment.

Should he have greedily snatched the physical that was offered regardless of the situation? Alternatively, was it right to accept that as long as Michael was forced into staying here with him, that blurring the lines between real and fake was a mistake?

They had really come so far with their ability to communicate with each other. Forced cohabitation had loosened the hold his fear of rejection had, with the knowledge they were stuck together within the close confines. Like Michael said, being a dick to one another would only make each other miserable.

Alex was trying not to torture himself with what could be happening now in Maria’s apartment. Once upon a time he had imagined Michael with any number of confident men, who could hold his hand in public. The best Alex had managed was a dark drive-in before his father’s poison destroyed the few fragile efforts he had mustered in being strong. 

Now though, it wasn't the anonymous men he pictured. Instead he had Maria, pictured with a degree of painful accuracy, starring in his worst case scenarios. A freshly rejected Michael, needing some reassurance, and Maria had always been a little soft toward a set of sad eyes. How could any amount of anger over Rosa hold out against a presumably determined Michael using his charm offensive. 

His mind easily worked up how Michael could turn those dejected wounded eyes on someone, tip his head down until the soft, lazy curls dipped over his forehead into his vision, and then use that low, raspy drawl to his advantage. Who could resist that? Not Alex, and he had ten years of experience at trying. 

It occurred to him that for all that Michael worried about trusting Alex to stick around, it was just as true that Alex didn’t trust Michael to choose him if pressed into an answer. 

Fuck. He was a moron, he decided, and his own worst enemy when it came to Michael. The only thing left to do was to secure Michael’s safety permanently, so they could stop this farce and perhaps finally face each other as equals if Alex had the courage.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on tumblr - lambourngb. I'm practising relentless positivity in the face of season 2 bearing down on us. Come find me where I cry about Michael and Alex. 
> 
> Next update Sunday.


	16. Chapter 16

The next morning Alex left the cabin on autopilot.

He went through his PT, shower, pills and breakfast mechanically, keeping a hopeful ear out for Michael, but by the time he left the driveway there was still no sign of his return from his night out at the Wild Pony. Likely Michael had rolled off Maria’s couch and headed straight to Sanders's to pick up work for the day, or at least that was what Alex told himself.

The uniform dress of the day was service blues. He had a recently made appointment on his itinerary with the head of Holloman Air Force Base, General Leighton, scheduled to make a video call with him to discuss his continuing assignment in Roswell. Alex returned the salute to the guards as his SUV was waved through the checkpoint, driving through the growing footprint of the base under construction. 

His father’s set of plans for construction had provided more detail than the gossip Alex had picked up regarding the ultimate purpose. Three dairy farm acquisitions had set up a large footprint of area that butted up against the Mescalero Reservation and the Lincoln National Forest, where the typical aircraft runways were under construction. What caught Alex’s eye was large areas of subterranean facilities detailed on the blueprints. Underground levels with copious amounts of water piping and electricity to create a below level hydroponics field to grow flowers. 

Libyan flowers in particular.

Alex returned the salute of the duty sergeant, who was once again, eyeing his out of regulation haircut with annoyance. “I've got time booked with the barber after lunch, Sergeant.”

“Very good, sir. Your 9 o’clock appointment is in your office already.”

He frowned in the middle of signing in and accepting his identification badge back, “I had a video conference set up. Was there an issue with AV?”

“No sir. But General Leighton is in your office. He’s been onsite since yesterday.” The duty officer accepted the log back, scanning and recording the check in with a bored look. “Begging your pardon, sir, but perhaps you should have visited the barber before today.”

Alex straightened his cuffs, and tucked his cover under his elbow. “Your advice is noted, Sergeant. Thank you.” He took a deep breath and pushed open the door of the main office with a professional smile pasted on his face. 

Inside, seated at the conference table with numerous folders in the corner of the office just outside the cubicle that Alex had been assigned, was the commanding officer of the nearest Air Force Base, Holloman. General Leighton was a tall and imposing figure, shading a few years older than his father by Alex’s judgment but still looking solidly in the prime of his life despite a shiny bald head. 

Crisply Alex drew to a halt and saluted, “General Leighton, this is a surprise, sir.”

The General stood and returned the salute smartly, before waving to the other chair next to him. “Captain Manes, sorry to drop in.” He pushed over a folder. “Your recent artwork came across my desk with your request for a continued assignment. I felt it might be best to have a face-to-face meeting.”

Alex rested his cover on the table and opened the folder that was now in front of him. His doodle of the alien beacon had been xeroxed and enlarged to fill a single page. “I see,” he replied, not commenting further.

General Leighton tapped his finger on the drawing, “I trust you know what this means.”

“Of course, sir.”

Leighton raised his eyebrow and made an encouraging gesture with his hand. “Elaborate. And yes, that’s an order.”

“The 1947 crash was real, sir. Aliens landed on our planet, and it set off a chain reaction of a lot of senseless death. That is their symbol.” Alex kept his eyes on the General, speaking as factually as he could without divulging information outside of the government files. 

“So despite what your father once reported, you are your father’s son. A Manes committed to the cause?”

Now Alex let a little emotion flood into his face. He had no illusions that his sexuality was not well documented somewhere in those thick manila folders. “I’m a Manes, as for my father Jesse, that’s what my birth certificate says. We don’t see eye-to-eye on personal matters.”

General Leighton nodded thoughtfully. “But you’re aware of your family legacy?”

“Yes, sir. I found out what my family does here in Roswell. I will admit, I didn’t come to this knowledge directly.” Alex smiled self-deprecatingly. “You’re aware of my skills in cyber security? My father was sloppy in handling intel on a shared device, and I was able to learn the truth. About aliens. About Project Shepherd and about the use of the Caulfield Prison.”

“I see. We recently suffered a loss when the Caulfield facility was destroyed due to a faulty fail-safe in containment.” The General pushed a second folder over to Alex. “Luckily it was a satellite operation with the data backed up in redundancy at Red River. Still, a loss is a loss.”

Silently Alex noted the name ‘Red River’. It was a name he hadn’t come across before, but fit in line with records he had recovered from the hard drives. The designation of the Yangtze on the documents tracking material shipments in and out of Caulfield suddenly made a lot more sense. 

“Well sir, my expertise in security and systems operation is second to none. Had I been assigned to Caulfield, I can guarantee that containment error would have never happened,” Alex replied, his voice steely, and accepted the second folder. He flipped the folder over to find a picture of his father and his father’s service record. A large red stamp of AWOL was across the corner of the documents.

“Your service jacket is very impressive, Captain Manes and I understand it is your ambition to run the Roswell operation in place of your father.” General Leighton tapped his index finger against his jaw absently. “And I’m no real fan of Jesse Manes myself. He is quite rigid in his antiquated ideals, but he is the man in charge. Or he was until he disappeared.” His steady blue gaze bore into Alex. “Are you aware of this?”

Alex pressed his lips together and looked away. “I thought something might have happened to my father, but I wasn’t sure. Like I said, we don’t speak because of-” Alex trailed off, coughing delicately in answer.

“I know you’re a homosexual, son.”

“Right. Well, my father does not approve of my private life. We had a very ugly fight about it just before he took that assignment to Niger. I thought he was still cooling down, until my brother Flint reached out about his concerns.” He shrugged, concentrating on his story recitation as he blended the fact with fiction. “It’s my fear that my father might have run into trouble. Alien trouble.”

“I share that fear.” The General frowned in thought. “Obviously with his importance to the project, his absence is being covered in the more official channels. One of our law enforcement liaison officers has filed many reports related to suspected alien activity in Roswell, and with that being the last known location of your father, it seems too coincidental to be dismissed.”

“You see why I wanted to take this assignment then. Whatever my issues were with my dad, he’s still a decorated fellow Airman and if some alien has taken him, or-” Alex looked away again, and cleared his throat. “I’m a Manes, sir, before everything else.”

That was the enduring tragedy of his life that he could not escape. 

General Leighton studied Alex for a long, tense moment before he opened a third folder, revealing a sheet of paper sporting the raised and embossed seal of the United States Air Force and a thick, dark, and unintelligible signature scrawled at the bottom. “Well son, as it happens, the current attitude at the top of the chain of command has shifted in the past years. The more gold on the uniform the better.” 

Leighton rolled his eyes a bit before continuing, “That said, your assignment has been approved. We’ll be putting through your promotion to Major, and you will be on-paper the second-in-command of this newly-opened duty station.” He extended his hand to Alex, “I head up special projects of course, but you are going to be my eyes in Roswell.”

Alex clasped his hand, shaking it. “Thank you, sir. I’m honored.”

Leighton made a humming noise in acknowledgment before opening another folder. “With that out of the way, the first objective is to find our missing Master Sergeant and contain any active alien threat that may exist. We cannot have a body count happening right under our noses.”

His mouth suddenly dry, Alex steeled himself to look down at the glossy picture in the folder. He was terrified to see Michael’s mugshot, reminiscent of his father’s threat level red, looking up at him. It took several agonizing seconds to realize he was looking at a picture of Noah Bracken. “The lawyer?”

“That’s the persona it took, yes.” Leighton’s face remained impassive, as he flipped through pictures of bodies that Alex recognized from his assistance with Jenna Cameron and the investigation into Dr. Holden. “We recently identified it as an alien. You know, it’s been long suspected that there was one living in Roswell based on certain patterns of suspicious death.”

“What sort of patterns are we talking about, sir?”

“Dead small town hookers and field workers, all with the feeding mark on their chests. Over the last ten years our law enforcement liaison compiled a list of suspected kills, I think it totaled around 16 or 17 innocents over the years.” General Leighton rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “From what we could tell it was only feeding on the lost souls of Roswell and maintained a stationary life. Damn, creature was meticulous, so careful it was a bit of a game to try to predict how long it would go before dropping a body. Then something changed. It was sloppy and bold, and we were able to identify it. Our scientists think there must have been a low level species-centric psychic bond with the other creatures in Caulfield, and when that facility fell, it triggered a type of feeding frenzy in it.”

Alex sat back, absorbing the rough details and story that had been created to explain Noah. So far it made an elegant type of sense to see the situation in that way. His stomach turned at the casual disregard of Noah’s previous victims, the undocumented and poor residents who he had singled out on the charity night hosted by the Delucas. The awareness of the previous bodies and the signature of the mysterious Dr. Holden solidified the theory that Jim Valenti had actively covered up murders for the government.

Leighton interpreted his silence as confusion, “I know it seems a little sci-fi horror, but these creatures can feed off our life energies. They don’t have to of course, they kill because they like it. This one seems to have gone off the rails right around the time your dad disappeared.”

“Hank Gibbons at the Wild Pony,” Alex supplied, knowing that his own name and his alibi for Michael were certainly detailed in Noah’s file. It would do him no favors to pretend to be unaware of the biggest source of gossip that the town had, since the Rosa Ortecho car accident. “They found his body in his truck. Are you telling me that an alien killed him?”

“The lab in Albuquerque confirmed it. Now our Agent Ross has been working to find Bracken. Somehow, either your dad was watching Bracken or he happened upon it feeding, and like the arrogant jackass he is, attempted to bring it down by himself.” General Leighton shook his head. “He should have called in for back-up. That’s how these hunts are supposed to go, two men always.” 

“Is Agent Ross meant to be my back-up here?”

“No, this is just a temporary assignment that’s probably going to wrap up soon since we found Bracken’s body.” The General tapped his finger on the glossy photograph of Noah. “It looks like that feeding frenzy drove it mad. We found it in a ravine, like it ran off a cliff in some sort of animal panic.” Leighton pulled out his phone and sent a text. “Your back-up will be here soon.”

“And you feel strongly that my dad is dead somewhere, sir?” Alex asked, looking down again at the AWOL stamped file with his father’s picture. “That Noah Bracken killed him?”

“That is the prevailing theory, I’m sorry, Captain.” General Leighton squinted at him. “Your father was a patriot, but he had a few bad habits that I hope you escaped picking up. Pardon my blunt assessment, but he was arrogant and reckless toward the end, and he felt like he could run this operation in Roswell unilaterally. I've had my hands full mopping up his mess. This uniform is meant to protect private citizens, not spy on them.”

“Spy,” Alex echoed softly, as his thoughts raced. The cameras at Max Evans’s place were gone and currently in a crushed scrap metal cube courtesy of Sanders's Auto. The data that had been compiled on Michael and his family was locked in his own bunker, but he could not rule out an existing back up. Perhaps his father was not the only arrogant Manes since Alex had assumed that his computer skills were superior to Jesse’s. “You know about his side-project I take it.”

“I was made aware of it recently, when we realized we couldn’t locate the sergeant. It pains me that I allowed him so much latitude here, but I assumed with the positive progression of the weapon testing he was using his off-time wisely, not stalking certain targets.” Leighton made a face of disgust, and continued, “When we find your dad, if he is still alive, he will be answering for his actions. His prejudice allowed him to miss Bracken operating right in front of him.”

It was the greatest gamble he could make but this was the moment. The General knew about the focused investigation in Roswell and his father’s manipulation of a witness, especially with the reports that Agent Ross had filed. 

“It was my fault, sir.” Alex braced himself and met the gaze of Leighton. “I told him about getting serious with my partner since I was going to be in Roswell for good, and he just, he lost it. He threatened me, told me I had been targeted by the enemy of mankind. After I found his surveillance set up, I might have suggested he go to Niger before I turned him in for stalking. I mean, he was watching my partner and his friends to see if they were aliens. It was absurd.”

“Your partner Mr. Guerin did feature prominently in the logs we recovered, and as a matter of standard review we looked into his background-” A firm knock on the office doors cut off the rest of what the General was going to say. “Ah, that is your back-up arriving. If you’re my right hand in Roswell, then this is my left hand.”

Somehow Alex was not surprised in the least to see Sheriff Michelle Valenti stride through the doors confidently, her hat tucked under her arm. The heir to her late husband’s office in Chaves County and with it must have come an introduction to Leighton and Jesse Manes. He wondered how Kyle would take the news that his mother was in on the alien secret, and maybe even was aware of how Jim really died. 

To Sheriff Valenti’s credit she showed no surprise in meeting Alex, either she had been briefed beforehand, or it was simply the natural state of being, that a Manes held the Roswell desk. “Alex,” she greeted calmly, as he rose to meet her. 

“Sheriff,” he returned smoothly, shaking her hand, before pulling out a chair at the table. “I’m relieved to see a familiar face working the law enforcement side of this operation, and even more relieved it’s not one of your federal colleagues.”

Sheriff Valenti traded a nod with General Leighton before taking her seat across from Alex. “You made your thoughts about Agents Rollins and Ross quite clear.”

Alex smiled shortly in acknowledgment before turning back to the General, “I was rather frustrated that the agents kept harassing my partner in their investigations regarding Bracken and Gibbons. You mentioned you did your own background check?”

General Leighton gestured toward the sheriff, “It was a matter of policy, which I’m sure you’re familiar with undergoing when you received your security clearance. Michelle here handled the deep background inquiries for the project and cleared Mr. Guerin through test results from the lab.”

Test results sent a tremor of anxiety through him. As far as he was aware of no one had taken a legal swab or blood sample from Michael thanks to the efforts of his attorney. Any sample tested had to be obtained either illegally or through indirect means. 

With effort, Alex kept his face impassive and raised his eyebrow calmly, “Oh?”

The sheriff pulled the file that had Noah Bracken’s background and detailed his movements toward her. She flipped through photos and statements, before stopping on a piece of paper that had the eye-catching bars and blanks that made up a DNA test result. “The DNA sample that Guerin supplied at the scene was not even close to the sample we tested on the Gibbons body.”

“It cleared him of involvement in the Gibbons murder and established he is just as human as the rest of us,” the General interjected. “Agent Ross has reservations and feels there might be a human accomplice to Bracken, but as of now I’m not going to throw resources at a gut instinct about a dead alien. Master Sergeant Manes did entirely too much of that already in Roswell.”

Sheriff Valenti nodded, picking up the conversation, “I verified the results and submitted my background clearance of Guerin. I don’t think you’re surprised that Michael Guerin has a colorful history of minor arrests related to drinking but nothing unusual beyond that. It’s been well over six months since he last graced my drunk tank, which I will attribute to your return to Roswell, Alex.” She dropped her eyes to the open folder of Jesse Manes. “I found no evidence of anything alien or connections to anything alien beyond the fact he knew Noah Bracken. Hardly damning considering I knew Noah Bracken. There was nothing in the realm of what your father alleged in his secret logs. I want to have my own words with Jesse when we find him over his surveillance on one of my officers.”

“If we find him,” Alex finished, keeping his expression focused on the table. 

“Between your statement, and the sheriff here, I feel very confident that the file the Master Sergeant opened on Mr. Guerin can be dismissed as an unfortunate result of prejudice. The important objective is to ensure that Bracken was the only alien operating in that town and that there isn’t a sleeper cell waiting in the wings to pick up where that thing left off.” General Leighton glanced at his watch, “I expect to see detailed and routine reports from both of you while we mop up this mess.” He closed the folders, and slid them on the table toward Alex before standing. “I’ll review the Roswell situation again in 90 days. I need to be sure I have the right Manes assigned to the task.”

Alex stood at attention from the table and saluted the General sharply. “Of course, sir. You can be assured that I will carry out your directives. I will not let you down.”

General Leighton returned the salute and then beckoned toward Sheriff Valenti to follow him. “I am assured of it. Now Michelle, let me show you the progress we’re making on this base.” He turned and headed for the door with the sheriff trailing behind him. The General stopped at the threshold of the door. “And Captain Manes? You might want to see a barber, son. Your hair is several weeks out of reg.”

“Yes, sir.” Alex smiled weakly, bringing his fingers up to test the length with chagrin. 

***

The back of his neck itched and felt exposed from the new haircut as Alex pulled out of the checkpoint gate. 

Missing the longer fringe from the last few months was shuffled away, with the other regrets he did not have the time to linger over. His phone had stayed silent during his time in his office reviewing the files the General had left behind. There were no calls or texts from Michael and no triggers from the security system, which meant Michael was still avoiding the cabin after their fight.

Like his mixed feelings about losing the last visible sign of civilian life, he shuffled his regrets about Michael down under the always reliable steel vault of repression he had developed as a child. 

A new date on his electronic calendar chimed, sent over by the General’s personal assistant to mark that his promotional ceremony was slated for late January or early February. To be determined based on the completion of the construction of the new base. Further out there was a second date scheduled, the 90-day performance review.

The highway back to the cabin was empty, allowing his mind to wander as he mused over whether he would be discussing a change in his personal life in 90 days. Logging the dissolution of his relationship with Michael or would he be filing for a more permanent next of kin request.

Abruptly his thoughts were broken by a siren wailing behind him. Out of reflex he glanced down at the speedometer to mark that he was speeding slightly in his preoccupation. The lights behind him were familiar though, as he found a safe section of shoulder to pull off onto and park. 

Alex unlocked his SUV and stepped outside the vehicle, signaling that he knew that this was not a routine traffic stop by law enforcement. 

Michelle Valenti moved out of her cruiser, shutting down the lights, and greeted him with an apologetic smile. “Pardon me for the theatrics.”

“It’s fine, I figured we both have a little more ground to cover than what could be said in that meeting.” Alex had gone over the case files that Ross had forwarded to General Leighton regarding Bracken, and the file that the sheriff had put together on his father and his illegal surveillance. For every paranoid note filed by Agent Ross, there was a corresponding outside report logged by Sheriff Valenti discounting or downplaying it. 

There was a subtle line of protection if Alex read between the lines, but he did not come this far to be foolish in his trust and accept her actions as harmless. It was hard to know if she was still affected by the same blackmail that had handcuffed Jim Valenti from acting against Jesse in the past. 

The informal interview in her office after the discovery of Hank Gibbons’s body, showed him just how close she kept her cards to his chest. Not once during the thinly veiled grilling about his knowledge of Michael and Noah Bracken did she tip her hand on her involvement with Project Shepherd. He could admire her skills in interrogation if only they had not been turned on him.

“I wanted to thank you for not blowing my cover about the DNA test.” 

“So you didn’t illegally gather and test Michael’s DNA despite the judge denying the request?”

Michelle Valenti flashed a thin-lipped smile in response. “I think we both know that if I had done that, it wouldn’t have cleared him as human.” 

Well. That confirmed his suspicions.

Alex flattened his expression into impassivity. “Do we both know that?”

“Alex, I’m on your side. I’ve known Michael, Max and Isobel are aliens since they were kids and I’ve never once betrayed that secret. I’ve never looked for their transportation vessels, even though judging from that trucker’s route that picked them up, they’re probably somewhere hidden in the stretch of the old turquoise mines.” She watched as Alex stiffened in response, his hand moving to rest on his lower back. “You can dial back that threat assessment. I'm sure you've seen enough news reports that will tell you pulling a gun on a police officer is a bad idea.”

“I guess you need to tell me why I should believe you.”

“You’ve been away for too long. Trust is an act of faith, and I can’t tell you why you should have faith in me.” She removed her hands from her jacket, away from her belt and holster. “Your father would use blackmail as his leverage against people and then call that trust.”

He looked away briefly, hiding the flinch as best he could. 

Michelle continued evenly, “I guess if we go down that road then you should know retesting the sample I labeled as Guerin’s and running it against mine would reveal a familial match. And that would be enough for General Leighton to remove me from my position.”

“You know I won’t do that, because it would raise a renewed suspicion against Michael. I need something else.” Alex raised his eyebrow, wondering silently if Kyle knew his mom took a DNA sample from him. He certainly was not aware that she knew about aliens.

Family secrets and Roswell, there had to be something in the water.

“Do you? It's not enough that I baked you hojarascas when you were a child? Or the fact that I know you lied about being with Guerin the night Bracken disappeared. _He_ was in town, _you_ were not.”

Alex kept his eyes on her, not blinking, as she continued, “I pulled all the traffic cam footage after one of my deputies discharged their weapon in town.” Sheriff Valenti glanced down at her uniform, bringing one hand up to touch the badge. “Or you could just believe me, when I tell you that I would never be on the same side that condoned the murder of my husband because he’d had enough.”

Alex tilted his head in an appraisal before smiling grimly in response. “You should have started with the personal, Sheriff. That’s the type of motivation I understand.” He followed her gaze to her badge. “How long have you known about the truth behind Jim’s death?”

“General Leighton recruited me directly to the Project after I was elected to office, to be the counterpart to your father. He showed me Caulfield, and explained the dangers that aliens posed. I overheard one of the scientists discussing the inadvertent human trial that had happened with one of the prisoners. I'm a cop, Alex, I can put the duty logs and an alien who can cause cancer together and come up with murder. I know your father was there.” She pursed her lips together, “But I kept what I knew to myself and vowed to continue Jim’s work in protecting the children.” 

She read the flash of surprise on his face, and nodded. “Yes, Jim knew about Guerin and the Evans twins too.”

“All right, let’s say we work together on this, Sheriff. I’ve only been officially read in for a day, it appears like I’m dealing with two or three competing factions within the Project.” Alex rubbed his hand through his hair, flinching a little as he felt the short peach fuzz around his ears. “There’s your side, there’s General Leighton, and then there are cronies of my father, like Agent Ross running around.”

“You’re not wrong. Your father has recruited his own loyalists that believe that the alien invasion will happen at any moment and preemptive genocide is the only answer. General Leighton is of the opinion that aliens are already coming and going from our planet, that we lack the sophisticated technology to track them. He’s more concerned in keeping the public safe from any hostile presence. You should be careful of Agent Ross, he is one of your father’s most loyal followers, outside of your brothers.”

He noted the plural, and filed that away quietly. It was too much to hope that Flint was the only Manes brother involved. “I gathered that from Agent Ross based on the visit he made to my home. He was not subtle in dropping my dad's name.”

“For now I have convinced General Leighton that he’s just as paranoid as your father, that even if an alien could disguise its DNA, there was no way with their psychic abilities that they would court that type of danger by taking up with Jesse Mane’s youngest son. You made a good call by going public with Michael.” 

Alex smiled painfully at the observation, she had no idea what that decision had cost him to make. “Thanks. So if you know about the Evans twins, then you're aware that Max isn’t on a sabbatical because of a broken heart?”

“I just assumed he was the reason Bracken was found in a ravine. Learning his sister was married to such a cunning creature.” She nudged the brim of her stetson up. “I know Max. He’s a gentle soul, there’s no way he would have condoned what Bracken was doing to boost his abilities.”

“Well you’re right. He didn’t take the news well.” He chose the next words carefully as he faced the quandary of sharing what happened to Max with her, even if she claimed to be an ally. Something made him stick to the general details, holding back on the real location of Max Evans, and with it, his father. 

The story of Rosa’s resurrection needed to be guarded. The loss of her husband was still weighing on Michelle, he was not sure how she would take the news that Jim’s lost daughter was saved, but not Jim himself. “He felt like he let both Isobel and Liz down and then he got caught up in putting Noah down. He needed to take some time away.”

Sheriff Valenti nodded. “I’ll continue to cover for him then, currently he is doing educational seminars on community policing in another state officially. Unofficially his absence, so close to Deputy Cameron’s departure, has stirred some gossip, but it’s been safe gossip.”

An oncoming car roared by, its headlights momentarily lighting them both up fully in the slowly darkening evening dim. Sheriff Valenti took that as a cue to offer her hand in farewell, “So have I convinced you? That we can work together to keep Roswell safe?”

Alex glanced down, before clasping her hand in turn. “I think we can. Just to warn you, your son knows about aliens too. My father tried to recruit him.”

“I suppose Noah Bracken beat me to the punch with Jesse. No offense.” She turned to head back to her cruiser, and stopped with her hand on the roof of the car, “I knew it was just a matter of time before Kyle discovered the truth once he started asking questions. For a doctor, he inherited his father’s police instincts. Maybe I’m being naive, but I just want to protect him if I can and keep him safely away from the military side of operations.” 

“I’ll do my best, but he has his own ideas on action and inaction.”

Michelle rolled her eyes, sweeping her hat off to place inside the sedan. “Don't I know it. I'll be in touch, Alex and congratulations again.”

“On my promotion?”

“On finally being able to live openly with Guerin. I guess Noah Bracken did us both a favor in disappearing Jesse.” The sheriff tipped her fingers in a mock salute to him before pulling out onto the highway.

Alex stood on the shoulder, watching the red tail lights get dimmer in the distance. It was time to decide exactly how much to share of what he had learned today with Michael. The fallout of the last couple of days still resonated painfully between them. The wiser move would be just to share everything, and decide together, like a real relationship would demand.

Standing at the crossroads of instinct and habit set at odds against his experience, it was just one more decision he had to make without the full trust of his heart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry there was no Michael in this bit- the plot was feeling neglected. 
> 
> Thank you all for your comments and feedback- My inbox is overflowing! I hope to catch up tomorrow. 
> 
> Next update: Wednesday!


	17. Chapter 17

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A million thank yous to Tas for her quick and amazing last minute beta!

The shorter distance, after Sheriff Valenti left, was to travel back to the cabin, but instead Alex turned off the county road and headed down the highway toward the town limits of Roswell. His phone was still silent, and while he could have turned on the lights and music to fill the empty space, the events of the day pushed him toward the company of someone who knew him. 

Besides, without Michael, his cabin was now just walls and a place to lay his head at night.

In the past, whenever he found himself doubting the path he was on, the beacon of the untamed horse at the Wild Pony had led him to Maria. He could count on her when he needed to lean on someone who saw past the eyeliner and scowl, and later the uniform and mask. Bending her ear with the chaos of his anxieties, brought clarity and the same had been true in reverse. The last three or four weeks of conflicted and tension filled exchanges were long enough in his opinion.

The parking lot to the Wild Pony was half-full, the six o’clock hour too early for the post-dinner crowd but still with enough late afternoon drinkers parked on bar stools to make a decent noise inside. Notably Michael’s truck was absent.

Alex glanced down at his uniform attire, pulling his black coat closed over his rank insignia and sighed. He met his reflection in the rear-view mirror, his fresh regulation haircut and short bangs obvious at first glance. There would be no hiding his decision with the Air Force from Maria.

Three steps inside the Wild Pony, the resinous green scent of hops settled into the back of his throat as the noisy din of clinking glasses and conversation echoed in the air. Maria caught sight of his reflection in her mirror with her sharp eyes and spun around in surprise at his presence. She flagged down one of her passing servers to murmur to them with gesture at the few occupants at the bar before stepping clear to meet Alex’s slow approach.

“Hi! Didn’t expect to see you here,” Her voice was warm and bright, with a slight uptick in her words keying into the unsaid question before her eyes flickered upward to his hair. Maria’s smile dimmed in awareness. “Wow, he wasn’t kidding, you really did sign on for more. I guess it’s official?”

“It’s official, barring a few more rubber stamps on my paperwork.” Alex rubbed the back of his neck nervously, the prickles of the fresh shave catching on his fingertips.

“Now recent events are making more sense. Listen, he’s not here right now.” 

“I am not here for Michael,” He took a deep breath and squared his shoulders slightly under the weight of his uniform and coat. “I’m here for you. Do you have a minute for a break?”

Maria blinked in unexpected pleasure, and looked around her, as if he could be referring to someone else just behind her. A pang of guilt settled heavily in Alex’s chest. He had not handled this well. “Me? Wow, okay, yes. Did you want to get a table and I’ll bring you your usual?”

“Water is fine, can’t drink in public in this,” Alex gestured to his attire and ribbons. 

She paused in consideration, then mirrored his own steeled shoulders with resolve. “How about we go upstairs? That’s not public and your face is saying you need a beer.”

The crowd was still light, composed of the typical Roswell barflies who were entirely uninterested in anything outside of their full glasses and the muted broadcast of football on the television. Alex nodded, and followed her back toward the hallway where three sets of doors met, one toward the kitchen and bathrooms, one toward the exit by the rear parking lot and finally a small heavy door that Maria produced a key to, heading up a back staircase to the second story loft.

Originally the second floor was meant to be an office and staff lounge area, but as Alex climbed to the top of the stairs, he noted that there were now gauzy bead curtains and tall wicker room dividers cutting through the open space into a place of residence. A small couch and chair sat to one side, where through a parting of beaded fringe, a low set mattress was in view covered in velvet and shiny satin pillows. An upright floor to ceiling wardrobe stood against the wall, from which brightly colored skirts and blouses spilled in a cascade of fabric.

Maria watched his curious eyes, and gestured over to the loveseat before detouring to a small dorm fridge nestled unassumingly next to the wardrobe to retrieve a pair of bottled beers he recognized as his favorite IPA. 

Alex took in the decorating changes as he sat back on the cramped, well loved couch. “It looks like you live here. When did that happen?”

“When I started paying for Sunset Mesa and trying to make payroll for the Pony. I had to sell my mom’s house to finance her care there. I mean, the bar does okay, but it doesn’t generate an additional 12,000 dollars a month for the nursing home. Social security disability denied her the first two times because no doctor will sign off on her being sick, so by the time I will see a check from the government- well, anyway, it’s been tight. I gave up my lease and moved here.” Maria shrugged, and offered a cold beer to him before taking a seat across from him. 

Alex twisted the cap off and took a sip, “I’m sorry. Is there anything I can do?”

She mirrored his sip on her own bottle, her expression closed. “Find me another lawyer who isn’t an alien serial killer? Seriously though, I’m making it work. Medicaid will help once it kicks in,” Maria leaned back in her seat, forcing a weak smile to her lips. “You didn’t come here to talk about the cost of nursing care, which is frankly criminal.”

“No, but I should have asked sooner,” Alex replied seriously. “I helped find Sunset Mesa for you, and then I didn’t follow up-”

“Alex, it’s not up to you to solve every problem under the sun. I needed your help finding the place, and you came through, like you always do. Trust me, you’ve done more than most, and I couldn’t have asked for more-”

“Couldn’t have or wouldn’t have?”

Maria took another long pull of from her beer and looked away briefly, acknowledging his point. “B.G or A.G - before Guerin and after Guerin. I guess I don’t know, Alex. It’s hard for me to ask for help in the first place, let alone... “ She trailed off, her eyes moving up to study the dark cut of his uniform critically. “Is that what you’re here to talk about?”

“Yes, and no,” he admitted quietly, his fingers fidgeted with the discarded beer cap. “I want to talk to my best friend about my boy problems but he’s also your boy problem so that makes it hard.”

“Pretend he isn’t then,” Maria urged softly. “Can you do that? ‘Cause I miss you, Alex. There’s nothing I want more than to talk to my best friend about dumb boys again.” 

Alex had had a lot of experience pretending it wasn’t Michael Guerin he was twisted up over and then seeking out the counsel of Maria in return. It wasn’t that much of a stretch when he thought about it. Over ten years of discussions about feeling he wasn’t saying the right thing, or being too scared to act on his impulses, and she had patiently held his hand through it all without once knowing the identity. Steady, supportive, and always with a wicked twist of humor to remind him just what a catch she thought he was. 

When he was a teenager trying to fall asleep through the various dull aches that came from disappointing his father, he used to press his bruised face into his pillow and pray for two things. To not be Jesse Manes’s son, or if he had to be that, then at least let him fall in love with Maria Deluca. 

God was cruel enough to keep him under Jesse’s roof and to leave his desires unchanged.

While his love for Maria skipped over the romantic track, nonetheless it still flowed strongly over the years. Scattered around the loft were various gifts that Alex had sent to her during his time away from Roswell. A wall tapestry he had picked up in Kabul hung from one wall. A pipe and ashtray set from an Istanbul market sat next to a wooden cigar box where Alex knew Maria kept her weed. A bright blue glazed bowl painted in the geometric designs of peacock feathers rested on a side table. It had been a gift from a thankful Yazidi father after his unit evacuated his daughters to a UN camp safely. He had meticulously packed and padded the bowl to ship to Maria two weeks prior to the IED. With the typical international shipping delays, he had already transferred from Landstuhl to Walter Reed by the time Maria had received it.

He held onto that connection, pushing down the lingering question of where Michael spent the night in the close confines of the loft. Certainly not on this small couch.

“Alright, deal.” Alex licked his lower lip in thought. “So there’s this guy, and we have some pretty heavy history together. We’re trying to be friends and like figure out who we are to each other outside of-” he broke off, glancing toward her bedroom alcove nervously before finishing, “outside of the bedroom.”

Maria followed his glance without comment, before taking another sip from her bottle. “That sounds like a healthy and adult decision, Alex. Can I take the credit for browbeating you over the years or do I have to share it with your therapist?”

“Depends, Maria, do you want to take credit for my complete failure here? ‘Cause for whatever reason I keep fucking it up.”

“I find that hard to believe.”

Alex raised his eyebrow skeptically, “Do you?”

“Yeah, you’re right, I forgot what a disaster you are,” Maria teased gently. “I mean you have a good job, you have amazing friends if I do say so myself, you’re the kindest person I know. And your face isn’t half bad either. So you have a few walls to climb, who doesn’t? Alex, you are worth the effort here.” 

“He hates my job, and he really hates that I signed a new contract.” Alex tipped his bottle to finish the last swallows. Dully he looked down at the bottle cap pressed tightly between his fingertips, “My walls are pretty high, here. I either hold back on him, or I get scared and push him away, which means I’m either pissing him off or hurting his feelings. It’s no wonder he wants-” He stopped, leaving the rest of the thought unfinished. 

“Being afraid of being hurt or rejected is normal. Life has taught you a lot of reasons why you need to protect yourself and if you’d share that with him, I’m sure he would understand.” She reached up to touch her necklace absently, before sighing. “I admit, I wasn’t thrilled when he told me you re-upped.”

“Not you too, Maria.”

“You were so close to being out-”

“I can’t leave until the job is done-”

“Please, that’s the kind of thinking that has kept us in Afghanistan for twenty years.”

A beat passed between them before Alex cracked a disbelieving smile at her sarcastic reply. “Did you just compare me to Donald Rumsfeld?”

Maria covered her mouth, as she started to laugh with him. “I mean, maybe? You have much better hair though, or at least you did. There’s only so much product can do to fix that boring flat top.”

“Thanks,” Alex replied drily, as he reached upward to his hair out of reflex. Maria giggled as he belatedly brought his hand away from his head. “My ego is safe with you around.”

“See? You need me around, you’d be lost without me.” Her smile widened with fondness, the old comfort of teasing each other over having high maintenance hair habits settling in naturally. This time, her words landed awkwardly into the air and her smile slowly dropped away. Her eyes grew bright and glassy in the warm light from the two floor lamps. The atmosphere between them changed again, as the unsaid pressed against them impatiently, nagging for their attention. 

Alex dropped his eyes to the floor again. The words in his throat were tangled, as he wished one more time that he didn’t feel like this with Maria. He was caught in the rough current of feeling jealous and angry while being tossed against his ever-present pillars of self-loathing. 

“What are we going to do?” Maria asked forwardly. She was braver than him like usual. “Are we ever going to get past this? I mean, I can pretend some more if you want-”

“God, that’s all I do these days, pretend, so maybe it’s best if we don’t.” He licked his lower lip, registering the dry chapped feeling from his nervous chewing. “I pretend with Michael, I pretend at work, and I don’t want to have to pretend with you, Maria.”

“I don’t think you’re pretending with Michael,” she pointed out, in a no-nonsense tone. Her eyes lost their sharp focus as her face reflected the changeover from friendly observation to a psychic read. “Unless you’re pretending that friendship is going to be enough for you. You love him and you’re not getting over him, and you’re sabotaging yourself with him because you’re afraid. You’re afraid that friendship _is_ enough for him.”

The air in the room felt thin to Alex. He closed his eyes, and placed his hand on his chest to count the rapid beat of his pulse. The black spots in his eyes swam in front of him, and he blinked several times to clear his vision. “I thought he had already made his choice. But then living together, pretending that we never broke up- It’s complicated now. Messy. And I’m afraid if I really ask, he’ll tell me the same thing he did before, that love isn’t enough. That it’s too much baggage to get past and he won’t choose me.”

“And I’m sorry, Alex. I’m sorry for the role I played in that feeling-”

“It’s not just on you. You would think I would be used to this, being afraid.” Alex pressed his lips together, before pinching the bridge of his nose to summon his focus. “You were right, what you said before at the nursing home. I am angry and I just want to stop feeling like that. I mean, first it was because he wanted you, then it was because you wanted him over me. And now-” his voice broke for a moment, “and now I’m angry at myself for still being scared.”

“Everyone is afraid of rejection on some level, of losing someone. I am, you are, and yeah, definitely Michael too.” Maria rolled the bottle of beer between her hands, before finishing it with a long swallow. “You know what happened last night? He broke in here while I was working and he was wasted by the time I found him, which is when I texted you. I’m not going to betray his trust about what we talked about, but you should tell him what you want from him. Be honest about why pretending you never broke up is fucking with your head, maybe it’s affecting him the same way.”

Bold and unadorned, the words were simple and light in the abstract. 

As he started to add in the past misunderstandings, the weight started to press down. When he draped the horrors his family had instigated and participated in, the pull was even sharper, until finally the addition of his own fear dropped the decision into an impossible abyss. 

He wanted desperately to be strong enough to claw his way out. 

Alex’s gaze drifted to the bedroom alcove again and then lingered over a small drawing of a rose tacked on the wall. “You make it sound so simple. So how are things going with Rosa?”

“She’s still nineteen and trying to be sober and I run a bar for a living,” Maria stood abruptly and gathered their empty bottles to drop in her small trash can. “And touché, Alex. I’m well aware I’m a hypocrite, but it's a club with many members.”

“I’m sorry,” he offered, ashamed at the jab he had made. “That was a low blow.” 

“Yeah it was. You’ve always been a bit of a bitch but I still love you. Now I’ve got to head back down before the evening rush hits. What should I do when or if Guerin shows up?”

Alex got to his feet, the burn of the day’s activities settling deep in his hip and lower back. “I don’t know, keep him out of trouble, I guess. He knows where to find me.”

She shook her head, and stepped in front of him firmly to pull him into a hug. After a tense moment, he relaxed into her embrace as the scent of desert rose filled his nose. There was nothing like a hug from a Deluca woman. Alex wasn’t sure if it was a psychic effect, but he felt the rush of love sweep from the top of his annoyingly short hair down to the toes of his only foot, leaving him warm afterward. 

“He does, but you should tell him you want to be found.”

***

He was most of the way back to the cabin, feeling a little better about the state of his friendship with Maria, when his phone alerted him that the security cameras had registered a vehicle turning onto his gravel driveway. Alex glanced at the screen, optimistically hoping to see Michael’s truck but his hopes were cruelly crushed by the sight of Isobel’s car.

The challenges of his day were just getting started apparently. 

He thought about just turning back into Roswell and perhaps finding Kyle for an injection of much-needed low-stakes personal interaction, where no one’s heart was being broken and no one’s telepathic alien sister was eyeing him warily. As appealing as it was to drive in the opposite direction of Isobel Evans, he really was looking forward to going home, taking his leg off, and taking his pills for the night.

Alex loosened his grip on the steering wheel, and fell back into the calming exercises that his therapist had recommended. The last thing he needed with Michael, was a renewed exchange of hostilities with his surviving family just because he let the stress of the day fray his temper. 

The sky was close to true black, heavy clouds that hinted at snow blocking the usually brilliant stars. 

Isobel was sitting in her car, idling with the lights off, in deference to the low temperatures. She shut off the engine as soon as Alex pulled into his spot. He closed his eyes for a moment of strength, it was too much to hope for that she was waiting for Michael. Alex retrieved his beret to tuck over his freshly-shorn hair, and stepped outside his Explorer with braced shoulders.

The echoing sound of the slammed car door and the crunch of her stiletto heeled boots on frost-stiff grass and gravel set his nerves alight. Calm, he reminded himself. “Hello, Isobel. Michael’s not here, as you can see.”

“I’m not here for him,” Isobel commented, as he dug out his keys from his coat to unlock the door. She watched as he turned off the alarm from his phone and swung the door open wide enough to invite her inside.

Alex shouldered off his coat to hang up, and swept his beret off automatically, forgetting the reason he had tucked it over his head in the first place. The reveal of the service blues and newly crisp haircut registered audibly on Isobel. 

“Well hello, sailor, I guess this is why Michael was drinking his weight in booze.” She closed the door behind her, and did an exaggerated head-to-toe sweep of her eyes on his uniform. “You’re back in, I take it.”

“Not a sailor, but yes I am back in,” Alex answered softly, before moving deeper into the cabin toward the kitchen. His hand crept up to loosen his tie, and pop the coat buttons open to relax the immaculate lines of the uniform. “Michael’s not thrilled, as you astutely guessed.” He pulled open the refrigerator, hiding his expression with the door. “Well, if you’re not here for him, what can I do for you?” 

With Michael absent, he settled on the old standard ‘must consume food for pills’ meal of a ham and cheese sandwich. 

“I was a little put out that you didn’t call me when you learned they found Noah’s body.”

Alex thought back, and realized after the fight with Michael over his return to the Air Force, he had spent the rest of the evening feeling sorry for himself and torturing himself with visions of what Michael might be doing at the Wild Pony. It was an unforgivable lapse into selfishness. “Shit, you’re right. I’m sorry. Yes, Agent Ross came by the other day and told me they found Noah’s body in the ravine that Michae and Max had dropped him.”

“I figured that out by myself when I got called down to identify his body this morning.” Isobel rolled her eyes, before hopping up on his kitchen counter, watching as he put together a bland sandwich. Her stiletto tall boots kicked lightly at his lower cabinet door. Her long blonde hair was neatly pulled into a bun, tucked under a red beanie that matched her oversized long red sweater and red plaid leggings. 

“Sorry about that.” Alex made a face, “I can’t believe they did that, he’s been exposed to the elements for a month. What was left to identify?”

“Surprisingly a lot. Cold dry temperatures, hibernating game animals, and a bunch of other reasons that boiled down to the fact he was intact and showed little de-comp.” Isobel glanced down at her hands, rubbing lightly at her wedding ring. “Agent Rollins did a good impression of faking sympathy for me.”

Alex started constructing a second sandwich for Isobel, and mulled over that development. At least with Sheriff Valenti working on her angle, and Agent Ross following the orders of General Leighton, there wouldn’t be anyone following up with Isobel or Michael as suspects. The general consensus that Caulfield had sent Noah into a frenzy that resulted in eventual death did rule out an outside actor. He worried about what channeled lightning as the means of killing would show on an autopsy and would it raise the suspicion of another alien in Roswell.

“That sounds awful, I'm really sorry you had to go through that.” He passed the plate over to her and picked up his own to settle at the breakfast table. 

Isobel looked down at the sandwich, puzzled, before picking it up with a shrug. “Well my mother was with me, so I wasn’t completely alone. She's driving me crazy about Max currently. My secret six-week rehab stay made her a helicopter parent once I emerged and took her calls. To say nothing of what happened when I had to tell her about Noah running off, the police involvement in it, and then Max not telling her about his plans to be out of touch.”

“What did you end up telling her?” 

“The first story, that Liz broke his heart, and then I backed up what Sheriff Valenti said about seminars and an education sabbatical.” Isobel licked her lips of crumbs and smirked. “When we get Max back he is going to have a hard time getting Mom on his side about Liz. Her baby boy with a broken heart? Yes, Liz will be persona non grata with Ann Evans.”

Alex finished off the first half of the sandwich and looked down at the second half. Reluctantly he picked up the second half to eat without enthusiasm. He swallowed a bite, “You sound happy about that. Thought you liked Liz.”

“I like Liz just fine, but what I would really appreciate is a break from my mother’s retroactive vendetta against Noah. As soon as I said he might have run off with another woman, she told me she never liked him.” Isobel rolled her eyes dismissively. “You’re plugged into the law enforcement news, how much should we worry about an intact body being recovered?” 

He chewed without really tasting his food in thought. “None. It’s handled.”

Isobel eyed him expectantly with a frustrated sigh when he didn’t elaborate. She prodded, “And?”

“My job is classified, I can’t discuss it Isobel. Just know you and Michael have nothing to worry about when it comes to Noah’s body and the autopsy. It will probably take a month or two with a joint-jurisdictional action, but most likely they are going to rule the cause as “death by misadventure”, the way they do stupid tourist hikers.” Alex pushed himself up out of the chair, letting out a soft audible noise of discomfort as his day’s prosthetic use and yesterday’s overexertion telegraphed protest. “It won’t be long until you get your life back, no more Feds stalking your every move.”

She handed over her plate with an appraising look. “All right. Let’s say you’re right, and you sound pretty certain, what happens with Michael?”

Alex kept his back to Isobel. It was doubtlessly a futile move of defense in the face of a telepath. He turned the taps to wash up the dishes, “He gets his life back too.”

“I'm starting to understand why he is trying to replace his blood supply with tequila.”

He shut off the water and leaned against the countertop, letting up on some of the weight from his right leg. “He’s doing that because he’s not thrilled I’m back in for four more years.”

Isobel clicked her heels across the hardwood floor in the kitchen to kindly move him aside to start the task of drying the dishes. “Go sit down, you made me food, the least I can do is clean up.”

Alex released his grip on the counter top to re-settle the weight back into his prosthetic. After a flash of discomfort he grabbed the dish towel from her hands, irritated. “I’m fine, and it was just ham and cheese.”

For a moment she held onto the dish towel, inciting a brief tug-of-war between them, before a second one floated across the kitchen into her free hand. “Do you push Michael away like this? Or do you let him help?”

“I push Michael away in other ways.”

“I’m well aware of that. But I’ve also seen you let him in to help, even if it was just opening a door for you.” Isobel nudged him over, and finished drying the dishes. Alex sighed in defeat and limped over to his chair again to sit down, flashing a faux bright smile at her when she nodded in satisfaction at his concession. “You let him help you, because he’s special. The exception to your rules.”

Isobel returned the plates to the cabinet and wiped the counter, before turning to face Alex. “You have a lot of rules for people, on what you’re allowed to have, or to feel, or how far they are allowed in. It’s far too many in my opinion. You should work on having fewer, especially with Michael.”

“Have you been back in my head?” Alex accused, his gaze flattening. The recent conversation with Maria was still on his mind, and hearing Isobel repeat his insecurities aloud made his stomach tighten.

“No, but I've been in Michael’s developing his telepathic skills.” Isobel tapped her temple in emphasis. “I'm going to stay out of this, because frankly, Michael is always going to do what he wants with you regardless of my advice to him. He would walk off a cliff for you, which is the root of why it’s hard for me to trust you.”

Alex shifted in discomfort, but relaxed a fraction at her explanation. “I’ve never asked him to walk off a cliff and I never will.”

She met his gaze for a moment and then nodded in some unspoken decision. “Yeah, I’m definitely staying out of this.” Isobel turned and headed toward the door, tiredly shaking her head. “I just came by for two reasons, to see if you were more forthcoming in person about what’s going on than you are by phone. Try and be better at that with me.”

“I'm sorry that you got blind-sided. It won’t happen again.” Alex stood up to follow her to the door, pulling his phone out of his pocket to check for a message from Michael. “What was your second reason?”

“Christmas is in two days. I want to spend that time with Michael so expect me on your doorstep tomorrow night with an overnight bag.” Isobel smiled sweetly, watching as he couldn’t hide the surprise from his face. She gestured at the conspicuous lack of any holiday decorations in the cabin. “Better find that holiday spirit, quick.”

Alex waited until Isobel was gone, confirmed by his security system, before opening his messages to Michael. Fuck it. He had given him enough space to be mad. If he had to suffer, so did Michael. “ **Isobel is spending Christmas Eve-Christmas at the cabin. Tomorrow. Be here. Please.”**

* * *

After the first night that Michael had stayed in town, Alex added back in his regime of pills the sleep aid, that his doctor had recommended. He had gone a month without a serious bout of insomnia, which coincided exactly with when Michael started sharing the same roof with him. He didn’t even bother with the pretext the next night, as his shorn head felt wrong against his pillow in the same way reaching out, and not finding Michael next to him did. 

Once Isobel was gone, he had shed his uniform to the hangers, and downed his pills. After his tenth or eleventh spiralling thought about being rejected, he slipped into blessed unconsciousness and didn’t wake until the next morning.

Upon waking, he did his PT, showered, dressed and fastened on his leg in a cotton-mouthed fog that was reminiscent of too many post-IED days. He was halfway through a cup of hot coffee before it registered he hadn’t made the coffee which meant Michael had come back sometime last night and he had slept through the security alerts.

Sure enough, looking at his phone the truck registered on the cameras a little before eleven last night, the Chevy plodding through the white swirls of the snowstorm that had finally made good from the heavy clouds. Alex tucked his phone away and walked over to the front door to peek outside. 

A white blanket of snow covered his SUV and Michael’s truck. Judging from the accumulation on the porch railing, there looked to be six inches of snow and growing. There was a plume of white steam rising from the generator attached to the Airstream, signalling that Michael had made himself at home last night there instead of the cabin. 

Alex eyed the trampled footpath between his front door and the Airstream, only marginally smudged by the falling snow. Pulling a beanie over his head, he slipped his arms into his winter coat, and grabbed his utility cane for stability. He stuck his socked left foot into a duck boot to protect against the slushy snow. The somewhat uneven heel of his booted left foot and his bare prosthetic foot was only a little awkward as he made his way to the Airstream door. 

He hesitated for a moment, wondering about the wisdom in seeking out someone who wanted to be left alone, before he firmed up his resolve. Michael had demanded in the past to be informed. Well now Alex had information.

Gripping his cane confidently, Alex rapped on the metal door with his free hand.

There was a sound of a brief shuffle, before Michael opened the door. His hair looked unkempt and greasy, with dark circles under his eyes that spoke of an extended insomnia. He was dressed in several layers, which struck Alex as unusual based on his knowledge of alien body temperatures. Michael stared at him with a remote expression, “Yeah?”

He could feel that the interior of the Airstream was not that much warmer than the outside temperatures. This was ridiculous, although it was almost exactly how he had originally predicted Michael moving in with him in those first angry, grief-filled days after Max. Back then, even heartsore about Maria, Alex hadn’t let Michael push him away. Today would be no different.

Alex wiped the falling snowflakes off his face, and pushed down his feelings of frustration at the return of distance between them. “Hey, um, I need your help, can you come back to the cabin?”

Without protest, Michael shrugged wordlessly, and moved forward to leave the Airstream. “If it’s the firewood, I already stacked it next to the fireplace.” 

“I saw, thank you. This is something else.” Carefully Alex stepped down from the Airstream’s metal rungs to the gravel. The metal foot skidded on the icy path, and immediately he felt the air thicken in front of him as Michael’s power spread around him to hold him upright. Well. That was something. He made it back to the cabin door safely with his cane and turned to smile at him in gratitude only to find Michael frowning at him.

Alex followed his gaze down to the single duck boot, and shrugged in answer. “My metal foot doesn’t get cold and putting the boot on it is a production.”

“So is busting your ass on the ice,” Michael shook his head and stamped his own boots clear of snow. He exhaled sharply, catching sight of Alex’s new hair cut when he pulled the hat off his head to store with his coat. 

Self-consciously, Alex reached up toward his head to touch the shaved sides. “Yeah. I saw the barber the other day. It’s basically official now.”

A pained expression skated across Michael’s face as he took in the short fringe on top that was now standing up In tousled spikes from the hat. A suspicious shine in his eyes glinted, as he blinked a few times before all other emotion was suppressed. “Great,” he croaked, before clapping his hands briskly to change the subject. “Tell me what you need me to do. Shovel some snow?”

Alex sat on the couch to toe off the duck boot. He inhaled and held it for a four-count before letting it out slowly to summon the words. “Two things, we should talk about what happened, plus I have a couple of updates for you, and then I guess with Isobel coming over tonight, we need to do something Christmas-themed in here.”

“Put me to work on the decorating. If you want me to leave and hit the big box stores, I can go now and clear the driveway-”

“Guerin,” Alex interrupted the eager offer to leave tiredly, and then remembering their argument in the kitchen he amended purposefully, “Michael. Please.”

At the sound of his name he stopped moving, and dropped into the chair across from Alex, like a marionette with the strings abruptly cut. His eyes moved restlessly around the small cabin, avoiding the new hair cut, before fixing his attention to a point just over Alex’s shoulder. “What’s there to talk about? You’ve got everything figured out. I’m just trying to follow your lead here, Alex.”

Every defensive wall that had been painstakingly deconstructed over the last month was back into place, and maybe the walls were higher than ever. Alex felt heavier, and sadly it wasn’t a feeling he could blame on the pill hangover. This was the result of his handiwork. 

“I don’t have everything figured out. I’m just trying to do the most amount of good with the least amount of harm.”

“I guess that all depends on your point of view. I mean this is the dance step I know, you call all of the shots, and I’ve got to figure out where I fit in, if anywhere,” Michael drawled lazily, while he pushed his hands into the pocket of his sweatshirt. The circles under his eyes were darker in the warm light of the cabin, the skin looking bruised. Two different shirt tails peeked out from the fleece pullover.

Seeing how unwell Michael looked diffused some of the immediate anger that sparked to life in Alex. There was a strong under-tone of acetone in Michael’s scent, it was apparent the bender from the Wild Pony had only relocated to the Airstream. This conversation was on shaky ground, even without a hangover souring the mood.

“I’m sorry, okay?”

“Nothin’ to be sorry about, Alex.”

“Well, that’s clearly not the case.” He stared at Michael, moving to meet the roving eyes to force Michael to see him. “Come on, remember the truce we called? This thing being hard enough without being assholes on top of it? If you’re mad about this,” he gestured vaguely toward his haircut. “Can we talk about it?”

“A truce is just a temporary halt to hostilities, Major.” Michael smiled without warmth. “Didn’t they teach you that in soldier school?”

Instantly he felt himself tense again in defensiveness. A thousand cutting remarks came to mind, but Alex forced himself to discard them. What did a war of words win him but continued space between them? The last two days had given him more than enough space from Michael. 

“I don’t want to go back to the hostilities, Michael. Do you?”

The soft sincerity lowered some of Michael’s guard, as he finally met Alex’s gaze. “No, of course not. Fine, truce then.”

“Thank you.” Alex rubbed the back of his head absently, feeling the close prickle of the shaved hair. “That fight we had earlier, it felt unfinished.”

“Felt pretty finished to me. I remember pretty vividly you tellin’ me once you sign a contract, there’s no changing your mind with the Air Force.” Michael glanced down at his left hand and flexed his fingers, seemingly submerged in the memory of that summer after high school. “I shouldn’t have gotten pissed at you, I’m not your boyfriend, and I guess I got so caught up in this pretending that I forgot that. I’ll apologize again if you want-”

“No, don’t,” he cut in, swallowing hard at the ‘not your boyfriend’ coming from Michael. “You were right, and you had a right to be pissed. Whatever we are, we’re not casual strangers, and I should have been up front about my plans.”

“I can’t promise I wouldn’t have been a dick about it even if you had. I’ve got buttons, and what you did, kind of hit them pretty hard,” Michael replied with a small wry smile. “Kind of a rare talent of yours.”

“I know. I had been thinking for a long time about staying in and I didn’t bring it up with you on purpose because I thought you might not take it well. I let you get blindsided by Ross and then- well, that’s on me.” He watched Michael look down quickly, surprise flashing across his face at Alex’s admission. “My own self-sabotage. I knew I was fucking up but I couldn’t stop myself from doing it.”

“I’m familiar with that feeling.”

Alex smiled briefly at the olive branch, before continuing, “Anyway, at first I thought I could be a civilian, and just use my hacking skills to stay on top of things.”

Michael leaned forward in the chair. “What changed your mind?”

“My dad.” Alex made a face at Michael’s scoff and shrugged. “I know, big surprise.”

“He’s in a pod, he can’t hurt you anymore.”

“You know it’s never been _me_ getting hurt that I worry about.”

He let out another derisive noise, and rolled his eyes at Alex. “Tell me about it, and we’ve already had that fight about your suicidal disregard for your own self-preservation. You get that’s part of why I’m pissed, right? Cause you’re doing this out of-”

Alex smiled briefly and held up his hand to halt Michael. “I promise I am not throwing myself on a grenade because I think I have to. When we stuck my dad in that pod, I started monitoring the channels to flag his disappearance. And no one really did, because he’s protected higher up. So I put my paperwork in and drew your symbol, the beacon on the corner.” He smiled a little wider at Michael’s disbelieving sputter. “You’re right, it is a beacon, cause it got me the attention I wanted. As it turns out, there’s three factions to worry about. There’s the establishment under General Leighton who is trying to maintain order and secrecy. There’s my father and his buddies, Agent Ross, and my brothers, who are actively hunting for aliens.”

“Who’s the third? You?”

“Yes, and Sheriff Valenti.” 

“Jesus! She knows. How long has she known?” Michael gripped his knees with his hands, and rocked back against the chair anxiously. Alex could see that Michael was reviewing every encounter he had with Max’s boss over the years, and there had been a lot of them. 

“A long time, since you were a kid. Same with Jim. She says she just wants to protect you guys, and I’m inclined to believe her for now.” Alex bit his lower lip and then continued, “She’s been running some interference on your behalf, shoring up my efforts with feds. Noah’s body will be turned over to the military and Dr. Holden for autopsy. After an appropriate amount of time they will rule the cause of death as accidental. The General seems satisfied in believing it was just Noah, operating on some species-specific berzerker episode that led to his death.”

“I’m not really thrilled the military is going to cut Noah up, even if he was a murderer.” 

Alex winced sympathetically, “I mean, if it makes you feel any better, we both know they’ve been studying alien physiology for a while. Noah’s body isn’t going to shed any new insights.”

“No, that does not make me feel better,” Michael replied flatly. 

“Yeah, kinda figured it wouldn’t.” 

“Isobel is safe though? They don’t suspect she’s...?”

“No. It’s probably tied up in some military misogyny that no one believes the beautiful blonde trophy wife, who organizes veteran fundraisers and weddings, is an alien as well,” Alex reassured him. 

“Seems weird to thank the patriarchy, but I guess I’ll take it.” Bitterly amused, Michael leaned back in the chair. “That just leaves me.”

“You,” Alex wet his lips nervously. “You were on their radar because of my father, no surprise. I explained to the General that my father’s longstanding homophobic bigotry toward me, and by extension, my partner, fueled his personal vendetta. Sheriff Valenti turned in a fake DNA profile that cleared you as human to the command structure.”

“Damn, I guess that means I’m going to have to be nice to Kyle now.”

“I’m sure he’ll be thrilled, but you can’t tell him why. The Sheriff wants to keep her involvement in alien conspiracies with the military a secret. It’s classified actually.”

The amount of trust that Alex was extending toward him registered on Michael then, as his posture softened more. “But you told me. Thank you.”

Shrugging again, Alex dismissed the praise. “I don’t want to keep secrets from you. They never lead anywhere good. Besides, her actions affect you,” he explained lamely, and then continued briskly on, “in a month or two, Isobel will get his death certificate. I think it will be a matter of days for Agent Rollins to be assigned a new case, outside of Roswell. His partner Ross most likely will stick around until that COD is released. He still thinks Noah had an alien accomplice.” 

“And then what happens?”

This was the last bit of news to share and he was dreading it. Alex directed his gaze to Michael, bravely holding the eye contact. “Two things, you get your life back like we talked about, we can stage a public breakup once the case is officially closed. You would be free to pursue a different relationship, if you wanted. Have that conversation… or not. Things would be less muddled.” 

On the surface of his thoughts was Maria’s advice. To tell Michael what he really wanted. To try one more time to make a case for them being together for real, without pretense, now that all of their secrets were out in the open. Alex studied Michael’s face, taking in the dark shadows under his eyes and the bloodshot aftermath of a deep dive into intoxicants. He saw all the edges of pain and fatigue, but nowhere did he see the rise of doubt or disappointment as Alex laid out a proposed ending of them.

Michael nodded thoughtfully, his face going blank again. He waited a moment in some expectation of Alex continuing before he finally prompted, “And the second thing?”

“Secondly,” Alex wet his lips again in answer. He pressed the disappointment of the non-response down and let the moment slip away unchallenged. “I continue my assignment, being the military liaison overseeing any alien activity in Roswell. At the moment my duties include looking for my father’s body, and who knows, maybe in some undetermined time in the future, I’ll find it.” 

He had some time to plan still on whether or not killing Jesse Manes was the right move, regardless of Kyle’s objections. The side effects of the pod were still an unknown factor on human physiology. It was possible the pod could provide the answer neatly to Alex. 

One way or another, that’s what he would tell Kyle anyway. 

Shaking off the brief preoccupation of what to do about Jesse, Alex continued, ”I’ve got a review in 90 days where I’ll need to update the General on my findings and log any changes to my personal life.”

“I get my life back,” Michael repeated slowly, his eyes growing distant. “And you have four more years in the Air Force to alien-watch before you’re free.”

“I am free now. Do you understand that I don’t see it as a prison sentence?” Alex held up his hand stalling Michael’s response, and took a breath, as he reached for the right words. “Maybe at 17 it wasn’t something I would have chosen, but I’m 28 now. Turning my back and walking away from what what my family did, how they perverted the uniform, feels selfish. I know you’ve always seen the Air Force in terms of what it costs me, the time and the distance, but it’s given me tools I need to survive. And now it’s giving me an opportunity to make a positive change, to undo some of the harm.”

His eyes flicked to the short haircut, but didn’t comment, instead he returned to the original subject, “This timeline you mentioned, is it the one month, two months or that 90-day stint?”

Alex cleared his throat. “I guess it depends on what you need. The immediate or the long term.”

Michael gestured with his hand encouragingly. “Start with now.”

“With Sheriff Valenti on your side, it’s probably safe. Um, safe to move the trailer back to Sanders's if you want. I’m fairly certain no one is going to issue an arrest warrant for you. Ross will be poking around, so maybe leave your research here for the time being.” He pushed himself off the couch, and stretched his numb, heavy limbs.

“Fairly certain,” Michael commented, his voice soft.

“I can tell the sheriff we’re taking some time, you want to be closer to work, I’m needed at the base more with my new duties. Long term, though, it would be best to wait before you go public with- with someone else. At least until it’s case closed.” Alex brushed past him to head toward the kitchen, his stomach clenching in knots but food still had to be consumed. “Whatever you want to do though, I’ll make it work.”

“And what if I want to stay here?”

He froze in the doorway of the kitchen, not trusting himself to turn and look at Michael. “Here?”

“Yeah, here. Um, in case you’re wrong about Federal Fuckface Ross?” Michael glanced down, attempting to adopt some nonchalance. “That guy freaked me out with his talk about hunting and population control. I can wait until he’s gone before we make any changes. If that’s okay with you.”

Alex held himself still, locked in the treacherous hope at the offer Michael made. Perhaps he could ask Michael to stay for reasons outside of a police investigation. He just needed to work out the perfect words to use and rehearse them once or twice.

“Of course, I mean, you don’t have to decide today.” He forced the lump down his throat to level out his voice, “Isobel is going to be here in 6 hours, so I might kill you if you leave now.”

Michael shook his head, a mixture of amusement and something else that Alex couldn’t identify. “Military badasss is terrified of the local event planner, unbelievable.”

“See? You’re wrong, I do have self-preservation skills.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A few things- first, I apologize for being so far behind in answering feedback. I keep thinking I'll have some time during my work day to work on that inbox, but I'm still short-handed doing the work of 2 for the pay of 1. I cheat and read every note as they hit my inbox though, so thank you.
> 
> 2\. I know I'm torturing you guys, but there are 4 chapters left to get Alex to use his words with Michael, save Max, and deal with Jesse. Chapter 18 is a long one. And with adult content. 👀
> 
> 3\. I had every intention on having this story done by season 2 start. It's probably not going to happen as I smooth out my last plot heavy details. Hopefully I have tricked everyone into sticking with me once this goes canon-divergent. ❤️
> 
> 4\. Chapter 18 will arriving Saturday!


	18. Chapter 18

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Two things-  
> 1\. My inbox is empty, thank you!! Which leads to the second thing-  
> 2\. Chapter 18 is just too long- so have an early update of the first half!
> 
> ALSO thank you to Tasyfa for another fast beta job this afternoon!

There was a careful space between them now. 

In the wake of Isobel’s impending arrival for a family Christmas celebration that had even Michael confused (“I’m an alien, Alex. This is a redemption story for humans.”), they were left too busy trying to find enough cheery decorations to pass muster to really discuss it. 

Michael, armed with a bottle of acetone, used a combination of his powers and a snow shovel to clear the driveway down to the county-maintained road. Then while he nursed the queasy feeling of telekinetic burnout on the couch, Alex took the opportunity to drive to the Target on the outskirts of Roswell for food and whatever picked over Christmas lights that were still there. He left instructions for Michael to scout in the attic for anything Jim Valenti might have stored that fit into the holiday spirit.

When Alex returned to the cabin, armed with bags of pre-made food and two boxes of suspiciously reboxed lights, he found Michael had worked a minor miracle, perhaps more fittingly, a Christmas miracle. 

The coffee table was gone, along with one of the bookshelves, and in its place, the corner was now dominated by a small evergreen tree nestled in a roughly splinted tree stand of logs. The branches sported long drapes of garland made, by the smell in the cabin, of freshly popped popcorn. Accenting the garland were several bows made of lace, tied delicately to the branches. 

“Wow,” Alex breathed, and then met Michael’s exhausted gaze where he was currently draped across the couch with a nearly empty bottle of acetone next to him. “You didn’t kill yourself making that happen?”

“Maybe a little.” Michael struggled upright, his limbs uncoordinated. “Gimme a second, I’ll help you with the bags.”

“No, stay there. Isobel should be here in an hour or so, I need you upright and sober by then.” He waved him down, and for once, Michael acquiesced to his request. Dropping the bag with the boxes of lights next to the tree, Alex left the food bags in the kitchen before returning to the living room to inspect the tree. “This is impressive, Guerin. Here I thought being an alien was your hidden talent. You don’t seem...” Alex trailed off, trying to find a delicate way to explain his curiosity. 

“I might be trailer trash but even I was exposed to Martha Stewart growing up,” Michael replied, his eyes half-lidded. 

“You’re not trailer trash,” Alex argued, even as he flushed from his misstep. He knew better than to leave an opening for Michael to fill, experience had shown it was finished with negativity. “That’s not what I meant at all. This looks nice, and much better than I could have done. Thank you.”

“Relax, I’m busting your balls.” Michael reached to unwrap the boxes of lights, his fingers fumbling with the messy repacked cords. “I don’t blame you for being surprised. When I first came back to Roswell, I lived with some real spare-not, waste-not sorts. Learned how to turn all sorts of things into something useful or reuseable.”

“Um, the fundmentalist family?” 

Michael looked up from untangling the strand of lights, surprised and pleased that Alex remembered the disclosure. “Yeah. Anyway, they were humble and pious about material wealth. You didn’t celebrate Jesus with glittery icontry and presents but a whole production of praying at Christmas time. It’s funny, Mrs. Wilson would be so pissed to know I absorbed decorating tips but nothing about the Bible despite their aggressive efforts. The power of Christ always compelled me to knock tables over or flip a sofa.”

Bending down, Alex grabbed the newly freed end of the light strand to start arranging the lights on the tree with a critical eye. The careful, dry and bitter tone Michael was using paired with the bleak resignation he remembered from Sanders's of ‘ _I was relieved, they had it easier’_ set Alex on alert. From what Michael said, he was eleven when he was placed with this family, and the name Wilson would be one to investigate later. 

Sadly he couldn’t personally remember what Michael looked like as a child, Alex’s own memories of childhood were hazy out of self-protection but he could imagine a cherub face surrounded by curls. Adult Michael had ironclad control over his power; he wondered about Child Michael.

Keeping his eyes on the task of the bundled lights, he was conversational in his prompting. “Yeah, you said you prefered the meth heads over the Wilsons.”

Michael reached down next to the couch to pick up the bottle of acetone to drain. “Addicts have two modes, throw shit at you because they are tweaking or be so high they forget you live there. I understand addicts.” His smile took on an edge as he gestured mockingly with the bottle, the undertone of a takes one to know one mentality. “Religious freaks you can’t reason with. You’re always a sinner. You always need to be saved. And when you’re a kid who can throw a wingback chair with your brain, you need a lot of saving from the devil. But you know, I can string popcorn garland and cut up an old tablecloth into ribbons for a bow, so it wasn’t all bad.”

“Still sounds pretty bad. I wish you hadn’t gone through that. Not that I know personally, but I’m told family shouldn’t be something to endure.” Alex stepped back from the tree to plug in the lights. Reboxed or not, the light strings glowed colorfully around the white lace bows and popcorn puffs. 

He turned to see Michael’s reaction, who wasn’t looking at the Christmas tree at all, but instead was studying Alex. 

“I knew what I was when I was a kid. I spent ten years being passed around from one human set of hands to another. The good ones were indifferent, the bad, well you know how cruel people can be. The ones I understood best, were the ones just looking for that social services check, but I have always been aware they weren’t family. No one was.” Michael paused, as Alex flushed under his scrutiny. “Not until you.”

Alex swallowed, his mouth dry. It was a familiar feeling, the shockwaves of stuttered emotion that reverberated after the verbal grenade. Michael always rolled these words over to him, compact and beautiful but with the pin pulled. _‘I never look away’_ to _‘If anyone was going to destroy me, might as well be you’_ to the more painful _‘I don’t love you! I don’t!’_. 

Perhaps this was the time to tell Michael how he felt, now that he had the confirmation that Michael still wanted to stay in the cabin for the foreseeable future. 

With a sigh, Michael swung his legs off the couch to stand with a slight sway. “I’m gonna take a shower and try to sober up a bit before Iz shows up.” He placed his hand on Alex’s frozen stance, patting him sympathetically before stepping toward the bathroom.

The paralysis broke, as Alex caught his hand to hold, stalling his retreat. “Michael.” Predictably his mind went blank as he tried to muster a response. Dumbly all he could reply was, “Me too.”

He squeezed Alex’s hand warmly with a small smile, “I know.” Michael glanced down at Alex’s lips causing a brief charge of adrenaline to surge in Alex. The noblest intentions had yet to hold up against a truly determined advance from Michael. This time though, Michael just squeezed his hand one more time before releasing him. “All right, Iz will eat me alive if I’m this high and sappy when she shows up and I’m supposed to protect you from her, so…”

Recognizing Michael’s need for retreat, Alex let him go. He returned the smile weakly even as the disappointment of another lost opportunity started to set in. “Go get cleaned up, and I’ll try to figure out some sort of cheese platter that will please her exacting standards.”

The morning’s wary distance between them narrowed in the glow of the Christmas tree, unfortunately as always the case between them, the moment didn’t last. 

* * * 

Fresh from a shower and clad in a cream sweater over his most intact pair of jeans, Michael reappeared from the back of the cabin at the noise of multiple car doors closing. The loose-limb haze of intoxicants was gone from his stance, as he peered outside the window with tension. “Did you invite Valenti too?”

Alex looked up from where he was meticulously arranging the cuff of his pants to drape over the metal hinge of his prosthetic ankle. In a compromise of comfort and more importantly, concealment, he was wearing flat-soled fur lined loafers even though he was entering the part of the day where he should be considering removal of the leg for rest. 

“I didn’t even invite Isobel, she invited herself.”

Michael grimaced in annoyance. “Well looks like she invited Dr. Dickhead as well.”

“Be nice,” Alex warned, before standing up. He shifted his weight, pressing harder into the cup of the prosthetic leg to test the sensation levels. A familiar burn lit up the nerves of his leg from his knee to his hip, but he was accustomed to that.

The firm knock on the door set Michael in motion from the window, easily cutting off Alex’s aborted move toward the door. His previously disgruntled expression disappeared, as he swung open the main door to greet Isobel amid the swirl of snowflakes. 

The bad weather from the night before had returned with a vengeance. Mentally Alex began to prepare to host not only Isobel for the night, but Kyle as well. 

She was resplendent in a turquoise duster with a white fleece liner, covering a deep v-neck pale cashmere sweater that showed off a neck full of cascading silver chains matching a pair of silver hoops. Outside of her immediate grieving period for Max, Isobel was on brand for her immaculate dress and accessories. 

Alex had an uncharitable thought that he repressed, wondering how long the flawless armor would last with Isobel if Max never left the pod stasis. She’d lost a husband to lies, manipulation, and eventually death, and a brother to hubris, all with intact nail polish and french tips. He both admired and resented the complete commitment to the pristine façade.

“Merry Christmas,” she greeted Michael, instantly enveloping him into a hug. Michael in turn gripped her tightly in response, lifting her slightly to spin around. 

A small squeak of discomfort came behind her, as Kyle appeared at her heels, burdened with several cloth shopping bags looped over his arms, with a duffle tote on his shoulder. “It’s fine. I can carry everything. Do not worry about me.”

“I’m not worried,” Michael replied over Isobel’s shoulder before placing his hand on her back to guide her into the cabin. “Obviously I’m happy to see you, Iz but what’s with the tagalong?”

“I ran into the good doctor at the store, and it’s Christmas. He looked pathetic and followed me here,” Isobel teased.

Alex moved forward to help Kyle with the numerous bags, as Kyle made a sound of wounded grievance. “You tried to take the last baked ham at the store, Isobel. I either had to come with you or lose my foot to your stiletto!”

He raised his eyebrow at Kyle, noticing that his friend didn’t seem too put out by the kidnapping. “Baked ham?” Alex questioned, and peered into the other bags to see a bucket of premade coleslaw and a bagged salad. There was also the suspicious clink of wine bottles in one bag. 

“Please, you were going to be alone and you were happy to be rescued.” 

“Sure. You say rescue, I say you took me hostage, or at least my dinner captive.” Kyle flashed a skeptical smile, and followed Alex into the kitchen, leaving Michael and Isobel in the living room to inspect the meager holiday decorations. “Don’t tell Isobel this, but that might be a little true. My mom is working a 24-hour shift since they’re still shorthanded so we’re doing Christmas tomorrow night. I have the night off from the hospital because I covered for my boss during his ski trip. It was either this, or a marathon of HGTV.”

“No Rosa?” Alex asked, turning on the oven to warm the ham. 

“She’s doing midnight mass with Liz and Arturo. Um… we’re still a work in progress. 2008 Me was a major tool, so she’s not inclined to cut me a lot of slack.” Kyle shrugged, and set the bags on the counter. He glanced toward the open door of the kitchen, and started to divest himself of his winter outerwear. Tucking his leather gloves into his coat pocket, he dropped the wool overcoat on the back of the kitchen chair, revealing a loudly patterned Christmas sweater sporting Rudolph the Reindeer. “I’ll wear her down, I mean, I wore you down and now we’re BFFs.”

“I will definitely agree with Rosa that 2008 Kyle was a tool,” Alex replied with faux seriousness. “It was you trying to put a log through my front window that really won me over.”

“Speaking of winning someone over,” Kyle began. He folded his arms, triggering a small flashing light to blink on and off on Rudolph’s nose in his sweater. It was amazing how the festive pattern only enhanced his guilelessness and sadly did not detract from the cheekbones that Michael had noted drunkenly to Alex. 

Kyle nudged his shoulder to recapture Alex’s wandering attention and then lowered his voice in observation of the open doorway, “How is it going with cowboy clueless? “

“That sweater is hurting my eyes,” Alex noted, ignoring the leading question. He turned, transparent in his avoidance, to start pulling down bowls and plates from his cabinet for dinner preparation. The movement pulled a twinge of pain from his stump, another nagging reminder he needed to rest that he was also ignoring. “I put together a few appetizers on the counter.”

“Alex. Who cares about the cheese platter.” Kyle pulled the plates away to set on the small table. “Talk to me. Thought you messed up with Guerin?”

“There’s nothing to say, Kyle. He took off for Maria’s for a couple days after our fight, and now he’s back.” Alex started dishing out the food, keeping his eyes trained on his actions. 

Kyle looked up at the ceiling and placed his hands together in mimicry of a prayer, making a noise of strangled impatience. “You know you're impossible right? Isobel filled me in on the status of the case on the drive over here. Your crazy gamble worked. It sounds like Guerin is in the clear.”

“Nearly,” Alex agreed quietly. “There’s still a guy in town who was friends with my dad snooping around for rogue aliens. However, it won’t be long before he’s reassigned and then, I will update my personnel file and remove Michael’s occupancy.” 

With another sharp glance toward the main room of the cabin, Kyle pursed his lips in dismay. The sound of Isobel teasing Michael over the state of his hair because of the well water and Michael’s sputtered defense but happy laugh in return carried to them in the kitchen. Alex drank in the sound, encoding it in his memory as a useless buffer against the future.

It was never happy memories that first came to mind in his experience, but his therapist had assured him that new thought patterns could be adopted through repetition. He was advised it just took time and commitment, and that was something he would have in the future.

“Judging by your thoroughly pathetic messages the other night and that kicked dog expression on your face, I know that’s not what you want. I need to know two things, have you asked him what he wants? And have you told him what you want?”

Alex dipped his head down, avoiding Kyle’s eyes. “It’s not that easy,” he replied, his voice barely audible. “Part of our fight was that I asked him to push pause until the investigation was over. Then he left. I mean he’s already told me once that I wasn’t what he needed. I’m a little hopeful though, he said he wants to stay here for a while longer.” 

“Back up, I’m confused. What was there to push pause on?” He moved his head to try and see Alex’s face clearly, as a light blush started to set in under the question. Suddenly the knowledge dropped into place, causing Kyle to slap a hand over his mouth to muffle an exclamation. “Oh my god, you slept with him?!”

It was Alex’s turn to dart a sharp glance toward the doorway, and glare at Kyle, “Please say that louder.”

“Home field advantage, am I right?” Kyle curled his fingers into a fist and offered it to Alex. “Don’t leave me hanging, bro.”

Reluctantly, with an eye roll, Alex brought his fist up to tap against Kyle’s. “You’re ridiculous and I hate you.” 

“He’s still warm for your form, Alex. You should embrace that optimistic feeling.” Kyle placed his palm on Alex’s back, curling his fingers around his shoulder in support. “You guys are no longer standing immediately in the wreckage of what happened last month. It’s not so raw right now, so maybe his needs have changed. There’s also a novel idea of perhaps examining your needs for once, and leaning into the idea that you deserve good things. You won’t know unless you ask, or you can stay here in this cabin feeling miserable and miss an opportunity.”

“That’s exactly what Maria told me.”

Kyle tightened his hand on Alex’s shoulder. “Well she’s not exactly an uninterested party here with Guerin, but that’s really good advice. Are you going to take it?”

What was worse, Alex wondered darkly, receiving admittingly good advice that backed up Maria’s, or was the fact the advice came from someone dressed in an ugly Christmas sweater. It certainly wasn’t the first time that he had to concede that Kyle Valenti had a valid point. Michael, from the beginning, had terrified him in various ways from the inexperience of sex to the depth of his feelings, and finally to the hard to shake idea that Alex had brought nothing but pain and ruin to their relationship.

The final phobia had been unintentionally echoed by Michael in the wake of Caulfield.

“Not to interrupt whatever this is,” Michael interjected from the kitchen doorway, his eyes narrowed in on Kyle’s hand. Alex immediately backed away from Kyle, and winced slightly at the pull on his prosthesis. 

He wondered idly just how long Michael had been standing there and if he had overheard their conversation.

“I’m starved after playing lumberjack earlier,” Michael continued, his expression shifting from wariness to concern as he focused on Alex’s right side. “Why don’t you go have a seat, Alex? Valenti and I can handle the food.”

He opened his mouth to protest before closing it, unable to argue in the face of Michael’s worry. The offer was kind and made from the knowledge he was well aware that Alex was usually on crutches by this portion of the night. “All right, thank you,” he accepted, brushing past Michael to find a spot to sit on the couch next to Isobel.

Over his shoulder he heard Kyle’s disbelieving question, “How did you do that? He never takes direction from me,” and Michael’s scathing reply, “Do what? I just asked. Maybe I’m special, Valenti.”

Alex closed his eyes for a moment before turning to smile weakly at Isobel. She was watching him with a calculating stare, a full glass of red wine in her hand. It was notable because Alex knew he didn’t have wine glasses in the cabin. She really was someone who was prepared for all instances, and he was back to feeling intense envy and admiration for her. 

“Well this is nice,” Isobel stated with a sweet innocent blink. “Thank you for inviting me.”

“You know I didn’t invite you, right?” 

There was a muffled crash of a pan from the kitchen, that briefly drew their attention away from each other toward the noise. 

“Let’s not split hairs. I’m sure you were working up to issuing the invite, I just saved you the trouble,” Isobel said with a politely generous smile. “After all it’s the season for family, so where else would I be but here, with my beloved brother and his old ball and chain.”

Alex returned the smile with forced cheer. “Well this certainly feels familiar to me, sharing a Christmas meal with someone who hates me. Almost like I’m 15 again.”

“Good God, I forgot how dramatic you are, guess you can take a boy out of the emo eyeliner but you can’t take the drama out of the emo.” Isobel sipped from her glass before resting it on the bookcase next to the couch. “Alex, I don’t hate you, I just don’t trust you. Those are two distinctly different emotions. Not to worry, I don’t trust any humans these days.”

He took a deep breath, and held it for his standard four count. Isobel seemed to take pleasure in making sharp barbs at his expense, but he’d grown up with Liz, Rosa and Maria. He could out bitch even the Ice Queen. “Now who’s being dramatic? Because the heart-eyes you give Kyle Valenti demonstrate you do trust humans.”

There was a sweet satisfaction at seeing Isobel blush and shift uncomfortably. “Kyle is like a puppy and an Eagle Scout wrapped in an Abercombie and Fitch model. Anyone would trust him. He’s nauseatingly good.”

“When you’re ready to date again, you should ask him out. I bet he would say yes.”

“Once I get over my dead husband possessing my body and violating my very being, I’ll be sure to keep that in mind.”

That right there, the too-honest cut of words that barely covered the depth of the hurt within Isobel, was why Alex did his best to control his temper around her when she picked at him. Trauma was, in his considerable experience, a clumsy sculptor, crudely molding emotional defenses and triggers, without a care for the finesse of social graces.

Michael and Kyle exiting the kitchen with dinner saved Alex from making a response. Despite the loud crash and muffled squabbling, they both seemed unscathed as they carried out plates with steaming ham and sides. 

The small cabin was not designed for entertaining, lacking a true dining room table, but Michael easily solved the issue by handing off a plate to Alex before sprawling gracefully between Alex’s feet to sit on the floor, conceding the empty armchair to Kyle without argument.

Alex ignored the raised eyebrow from Kyle, in the same way he ignored the warmth of Michael against his left leg. 

Dinner conversation was mainly between Kyle and Isobel, who traded teasing barbs with each other over the ultimate winner in the contested ham from the store. He caught Michael tipping his head back to meet Alex’s eyes with an exaggerated eye-roll each time the line between humor and flirtation was crossed. Alex was warmed by how understanding Michael was, silently letting someone he didn’t care for flirt with his beloved sister.

Once everyone’s plate was cleaned, he surrendered his plate to Isobel, who promptly volunteered Kyle to help her wash the dishes and clean the kitchen. Even though Kyle had helped prep the plates, he seemed pleased by the forced conscription.

It confirmed the lingering suspicion Alex had, that once Isobel was ready to see someone, Kyle would be more than willing to go along with it. 

As soon as they disappeared into the kitchen, Michael twisted on the floor and rested a hand on Alex’s right knee, covering where Alex’s fingers were unconsciously rubbing at the nagging fit of his stump into the cup of his prosthesis. “You should go take this off. I know it’s past time.”

“Isobel-” Alex protested in an undertone. The idea of being vulnerable in front of anyone outside of Michael rankled. “We have company.”

“Alex. She won’t care, and I’ll explode Kyle’s brain if he says anything. With the weather and the wine, it’s clear no one is leaving tonight. You should be comfortable.”

With a sigh, Alex nodded reluctantly. Michael instantly scrambled to his feet, and offered his hands to help Alex upright from the sagging couch cushions. His power surrounded Alex, considerately holding him upright and steady. “You’re right, and that’s really annoying to me, you know.”

“Poor baby, slayed by my logic,” Michael mocked sweetly in a soft voice, “Isobel also brought red velvet cake, so if you’re good, do your PT, and take your pills, I’ll cut you a corner piece.”

“You’re an asshole, but I accept. When I get back, there better be dessert on a plate for me.”

Michael smirked at the half-serious order, “Yes sir.”

***

Unfortunately his delay in removing the prosthetic leg had left Alex’s stump swollen and hot to the touch. He was forced to sit in his bedroom chair, and apply a thick cooling gel on the inflamed skin, setting aside the more involved remedy of ice and complete rest. If Isobel wanted to give Michael a type of family Christmas gathering, well he wasn’t going to let his leg put an end to that. Alex dry swallowed a muscle relaxant and safety-pinned the empty leg of his sweat pants before grabbing his crutches to return to the main room of the cabin.

“-You could be nicer about Maria, Iz,” Michael was saying as Alex stopped just out of sight, frozen at the name. “She’s not the villain in this.” 

“I don’t have to be nice about your feel-good bandaid.”

“She’s more than that-” Michael protested, and then his voice dropped to a register that was inaudible to Alex.

“Wow, and what did she say to that?”

“She said that trauma doesn’t follow a rulebook, and I should be patient.”

Isobel laughed, “I hate that now you’re making me agree with Maria Deluca.”

Michael responded in a low tone again, frustrating Alex. He should enter the room, instead of standing in his own house to eavesdrop on them, but he couldn’t help but want to know more about Michael’s thoughts about Maria. His own conversation at the Wild Pony had helped smooth some of Alex’s rough edges with his best friend, but Michael’s side was still largely unknown. 

“You’ve got to love yourself before you can love anyone else properly. You have to believe you’re worthy of being loved in order to accept being loved, Michael. Or at least that’s what the counsellor said that my mom sent me to.”

“I prefer the Beatles, Iz. The love you take is equal to the love you make,” Michael teased back, his voice warm and suggestive. “Trust me, I can make a lot of love.”

Isobel laughed and gagged playfully. “God you’re so gross. I can’t believe you get laid at all.”

At the descent into childish bickering, Alex let out a soft breath and swung his crutches into the main room. Kyle was apparently still in the kitchen, but Isobel had Michael tucked protectively under her arm, attempting to ruffle his curls. They both paused in their horseplay as he came into view and steeled himself for Isobel’s reaction to his missing leg.

“Alex Manes, you are a defective human being,” Isobel pronounced firmly, then after an unsubtle elbow from Michael, she continued, “there’s no television here, so how do you and my brother entertain yourselves at night since I presume the obvious is out.”

Michael swatted Isobel with a small couch pillow before he sprang to his feet as Alex moved into the room, “Not everyone needs to have a television blaring 24/7 to fill the air, Iz. Some people can be entertained with a book, or a conversation.” Michael placed a steady hand on Alex’s arm, and gestured toward the newly vacated space on the couch next to Isobel. 

“I’ve got a deck of cards,” Alex offered, allowing Michael to seat him on the couch and place the crutches within reach. “But no television. I got out of the habit after my first posting to Afghanistan and never picked it up again.”

“Playing cards or a book, how thrilling,” Isobel laughed before quieting after Michael shot another stern look in her direction. “Very domestic and geriatric.”

“Where’s my cake?” 

As if summoned, Kyle appeared from the kitchen doorway, balancing three plates of cake, one in each hand and the third resting on his elbow, showing off the type of balance that he picked up helping Liz at the Crashdown growing up. Michael narrowed his gaze in calculation and lifted the plate from Kyle’s bent arm to float smoothly over to Alex’s lap with a smug smile. He took advantage of the momentary surprise to reach with his hands to pluck a second plate out of Kyle’s grasp, leaving only one left for Isobel, who waited with a dangerously serious look, as if daring Kyle to keep the last one for himself. 

“Um dessert is served, and I guess I will be right back with my own,” Kyle sighed, taking absolutely no care in avoiding Michael’s careless sprawl at Alex’s feet, knocking his foot against Michael, as he leaned over to hand the last plate to Isobel’s waiting hands. “Thanks guys.”

Michael stuffed a large bite into his mouth, leaving a trace of frosting on his upper lip as he leaned back against Alex’s leg. “‘S good. Thanks Iz.”

“It’s Max’s favorite,” she replied quietly, taking a small bite. 

The mention of Max’s name smothered the holiday spirits in the room abruptly. As if noticing the suddenly drawn expression on Michael, Isobel forced herself to laugh again, “We should enjoy the cake while he’s gone, he won’t share when he’s back.”

Kyle reappeared with his own piece of cake and took a seat in the lone armchair. “Exactly, it’s just a matter of time.”

Gently, as if he wasn’t sure if he should open the recently volatile subject of his job, Alex spoke up, “I plan on getting a full tour of what the military is doing with their knowledge after the holiday. I’m sure there’s an answer there.”

Michael tipped his head back against Alex’s knee, “I know I don’t need to say this, but you’ll be careful?”

“Have you ever known me to be reckless?”

“Well one time you told a bunch of federal agents at my trailer-”

Isobel laughed again, cutting off Michael’s very reasonable observation. “He’s reckless to save your ass, but I would say other than that, you shouldn’t worry. Alex Manes has every angle covered, isn’t that right?”

“Most of them,” Alex agreed, scraping his fork against the plate scooping up the last bite of cake. Distractingly, Michael licked off the frosting from his own fork, his plate already empty. He nudged Alex’s leg and opened his mouth in silent invitation as Alex held the last forkful of cake in the air. He was predictable, of course he leaned down, ignoring the looks exchanged by Isobel and Kyle, and guided the last bite of cake into Michael’s waiting mouth. 

He was also weak against the warmth of arousal at watching Michael thoroughly lick the fork clean of sweetness. The brazen display sparked so many thoughts that he quashed as he caught sight of the mostly empty bottle of acetone resting next to the corner of the couch. Isobel had also downed more than one glass of wine since dinner. The earlier muscle relaxant he took kept him from indulging as well, but Michael’s warmth against between his legs and his physicality was its own drug. 

Isobel rolled her eyes at her brother’s display and reached for her wine glass, finishing off her third glass of cabernet sauvignon. “What if they don’t know anything about how to save an alien, just how to kill them? You might have traded four more years of your life for nothing but a bad haircut.”

Alex placed his empty dessert plate on the side table. “Not for nothing. It still provides me with some valuable intel and leverage over my dad. If and when we take him out of that pod and he’s still alive, I will still have his job.”

“The pod better kill him and save me the trouble.”

“Plus there’s no such thing as a bad haircut on Alex, just look at that face,” Kyle put in quickly, with a worried glance at Michael. “Also a request we don’t talk about killing people on Christmas Eve?”

Michael met the concern with his own jealous glance at Kyle after his comment on Alex’s looks, before draping his arm over Alex’s left knee possessively. “We still have other options outside of the military, Iz, with our powers. Your control with the TK has really improved.”

“True, and you were successful in influencing a few people to give more generously to our community food bank for Christmas the other day. In fact, you seemed to figure that out almost overnight. Have you been practicing without me?” Isobel raised her eyebrow, and tilted her chin toward Alex meaningfully.

“What? No!” Michael twisted at his feet to look up at Alex with worried eyes and then paused in surprise at Alex’s calm and steady expression. 

While the idea of that Isobel might have been playing around with his mind would have made Alex tense, the idea of Micheal inside his mental defenses was rather appealing in comparison.There weren’t any secrets between them anymore, outside of whether Michael knew he was still in love with him. As Kyle had pointed out, he was horrible at hiding anything. 

What was interesting to Alex was Isobel’s apparent surprise. The previous reports on their experiments in telepathy and thought influencing had only detailed the headaches Michael had had in his attempts to master the talent but not success. “I didn’t know you were able to do that.”

“It just clicked,” Michael explained, before patting his hand on the floor close to the concealed bunker door with a meaningful glance at Alex. “I zoned out one morning and the next thing I knew, I woke up and I could do it. Like my subconscious mind was working out the puzzle in the background.”

“Oh. _Oh_!” 

“Yeah oh.” 

Kyle and Isobel exchanged confused glances at the exchange between Michael and Alex, waiting for some elaboration. Alex rubbed his jaw, his eyes fixed on the hidden door to the console and work space and ignored the pair.

Finally, Kyle cleared his throat as he got to his feet to gather the dessert plates. “On that awkward note, I need to find a bed if I want to get up in time to bring my mom an early breakfast tomorrow. So who am I spooning tonight? You, Guerin, or will it be you, Manes?” He batted his eyelashes at them. 

His mind was still on the memory of Michael holding onto the completed console in an unresponsive daze and the effects it clearly had, so he missed the first half of the exchange. “- that Airstream sleeps fine and it’s only a little chilly, Isobel. The generator purrs like a kitten. Valenti will be fine, and you can have the spare bedroom.”

“And where pray tell are you sleeping? Not on this medieval torture device Alex calls a couch-” 

“You know you could sleep in your own Airstream, and I can crash next to Alex. We used to do it all the time as kids.”

“No fucking way, Valenti. The only person who is sleeping with Alex is me.”

“Hey!” Alex interjected sharply, catching the attention of both Kyle and Michael, while Isobel sat back on the couch with a highly amused expression. “I’m an adult, I think I can decide on my own bed partner just fine, thank you.” He let the silence spread for a long moment, and Michael shifted nervously at his feet, before he dropped a hand on the back of Michael’s neck, “Obviously it’s Michael, because he doesn’t steal the covers or kick in his sleep, but if you get cold in the Airstream, Kyle, you can always ask Isobel for an extra blanket.”

“I will melt your brain, Manes,” Isobel hissed, a flush on her cheekbones at the suggestion.

“I just meant you guys have a higher than human body temperature.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What a shame, these two are going to have to share a bed. And it's Christmas. And there's been a bit of liquid cheer for Michael. Hmmmm, whatever could happen? Anyway, stay tuned for Saturday when the second half drops and I'm cautiously optimistic my inbox explodes.


	19. Chapter 19

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Prepare yourself my friends- the promised adult content. 116,000 words to make it to this point.

Once the door to Alex’s bedroom closed, Michael took a seat on the bed while Alex hovered near the dresser to find sleepwear for them while he balanced on his crutches. He hunted through the drawer looking for something that might lessen his attraction to Michael after he had spent the evening touching Alex so possessively and at the same time would increase Alex’s self-confidence in addressing his feelings.

It was probably a lot of responsibility to place on sleepwear.

The second, probably more important thought on his mind, was Michael’s disclosure regarding his new-found facility in telepathy. To go from being admittedly weak and untalented in the mental side of their abilities to successful subtle manipulation of charity donations overnight was intriguing and worrying. It was especially unsettling to connect that jump in talent to the ship console in his bunker. Those long paralyzing hours worrying that Michael was trapped forever in some unbreakable alien mind control had taken over top billing in his nightmares.

His father hunting and capturing Michael still ran a close second. 

“I can sleep on the floor-”

“You didn’t tell me the console did something-”

He turned in surprise at Michael’s interruption, a pair of soft cotton pants hanging from his fingertips. “You’re not sleeping on the floor, don’t be ridiculous.”

Michael offered a weak smile, even as he shrugged awkwardly. “Are you sure? What about the stuff you said last time we were here, about things getting mixed up and this being a bad idea? I mean that was you asking me for space, right?”

Alex took a deep breath, and held it for four beats of his heart as he worked out his next words with consideration. He didn’t want to mess this up now that the opportunity was there. 

“Uh oh,” Michael commented softly, before placing both hands on the bedspread as if to brace himself. “Incoming: emotions.”

That dry pronouncement startled Alex into a laugh, as he relaxed fractionally. The acetone use from earlier was still somewhat in effect, leaving Michael in a loosened state. Alex balled up the pants and tossed them at Michael’s head in mock-wounded offense. “I probably deserved that. I’m sorry, I keep running hot and cold on you, and I’m sure it’s getting old.”

Michael flashed an unrepentant smile as he picked the clothing off his head and brushed his curls back into place. The smile softened, as he rubbed his thumb against the seam on the bedspread absently. “I get it, I mean it’s hard to know what the right thing to do is, what’s too much, what’s not enough,” he met Alex’s gaze, golden-brown eyes dark with seriousness and shadowed from the nightstand lamp. “There’s not exactly a rulebook for us to follow here.”

The flush of the toilet next door, with the sounds of Isobel doing her night routine, broke the quiet. 

“I mean there is, but it’s something out of the Harlequin book catalog. Not sure how realistic that is,” Alex joked quietly, moving closer to the bed with a pair of shorts tucked under one arm. “Two people pretend to be together for some contrived reason. Always ends the same way.”

“Yeah, then they fall in love,” Michael dropped eyes down briefly to Alex’s mouth before smiling again. “But that’s not our story, is it?” He read Alex’s flinch easily, and rushed to continue in reassurance, “Because we already were there. We already fell. This is why I asked you if you were sure you wanted to share a bed again.”

“You’ve been drinking,” Alex commented. Tongues loosened by drink, the light buzz leftover from a holiday gathering, and Michael staring beseechingly at him while on his bed, it was all a lot to process. Sitting in a Humvee in Mosul felt safer to him at the moment and that truly said some depressing things about his past. “Maybe this isn’t the best time to talk about this,” Alex hedged. 

“Yeah, I had just enough to take the edge off and make Valenti tolerable, but not so much that I don’t know what I’m saying,” Michael replied honestly. “Right now, my head is clear, what about yours?”

“I haven’t had anything to drink.”

“Well good, we’re both of sound mind. Just tell me what you want, and do not tell me what you want doesn’t matter. We can even call it your Christmas gift to me, if it makes you feel better.” 

Alex stuttered, and took another deep breath, before letting it out slowly. “I want a lot of things, Michael. I want to stop being afraid. I want to believe I can have the things I want. And I want to be sure, okay? Not just sure of you, but of me, that I’m not seeing what I want to see here.” He flexed his fingers on the grip of the crutches, grounded in the present reminder of his body. “I know it’s a lot to figure out, just in the meantime, I know I don’t want you to leave, and I definitely don’t want you to sleep on the floor.”

Michael nodded thoughtfully, licking his lower lip, “I can work with that. I don’t want to leave, and I really don’t want to sleep on the floor,” his smile turned wicked then, lightening the mood between them, “or worse, sleep with Valenti.” 

“Right? For a short guy, he kicks surprisingly hard. You should give Isobel a heads up.” 

A truly pained expression took over as Michael whined, “No, stop. I’m not ready to contemplate that just yet. He’s locked safely in my trailer, far away from my sister tonight.” He turned his head to the closed door of the shared bathroom. “Speaking of, it sounds like she’s done in there if you want to get your pills and get ready for bed.” 

“You first, you already know how long I take.” 

Alex used the closed door as a chance to regroup. Hope grew in his chest, battering at the old distrust he had in anything good happening to him. He rubbed his hand against his mouth, testing the lines from his smile briefly, before he moved over to the corner closet door. 

The sound of the taps turning on and off in the bathroom reassured Alex, as he opened the door and removed the stack of bedding from on top of the black case resting on the floor. This was when he regretted removing the prosthesis, as he awkwardly slung the guitar strap over his shoulder and precariously hopped over to the bed to place it on the right side.

The creak of the bathroom door brought Alex around to face Michael, standing in a pair of white briefs, holding his jeans and cream sweater in his arms. A wet curl dropped into his eyeline, as he looked at Alex and then toward the bed and back to Alex again. 

Keeping his eyes firmly at Michael’s face, Alex felt his mouth dry as he stumbled to clear the jumble of feelings, “I did, um, get you an actual Christmas present.” 

Even in his surprise, Michael was aware of keeping the floor clear as he tossed his laundry at the chair and rushed toward the black case on the bed. “Oh shit, seriously?” He unsnapped the case and opened the lid, revealing a bright natural spruce finish with the dark teardrop pic guard that was the trademark stamped Martin guitar, nestled on a bed of crushed blue velvet. 

Nervously he watched as Michael removed the guitar to clasp against his bare chest, and then positioned his hands reverently on the neck and body. A different rush swept over Alex as he watched Michael hold and stroke the sound board with a perfect left hand. It was ridiculous to feel jealousy over an object. 

“So you like it?” 

“I hate you so much right now. Isobel is trying to sleep in the next room and you give me this. This is cruel and unusual.” Michael smiled brightly, shaking his head. “But it’s too much, Alex. A Martin D-18.”

“I picked it up used at some estate sale and had it reconditioned. It looks more expensive than it was.” Alex mirrored the smile, and swung his crutches toward the bathroom to start his evening routine of pills and brushing his teeth. “Merry Christmas Michael.”

The cold tap water helped calm Alex, as he splashed his face a few times. He gave his reflection a long look, struggling to keep from smiling too much. No one had made any promises, he reminded himself firmly as he quickly dropped into his PT exercises using the towel bar for leverage.

The bedroom was mostly dark, with just a single lamp lit on the nightstand next to Alex’s side of the bed, when he finally gathered his resolve to leave the bathroom. Michael’s curly hair was visible from the other pillow, while Alex’s side was clear. That was one of the easiest things they had agreed on, that Michael preferred to have the wall against his back, the way the side of the Airstream kept him secure, while Alex needed a clear eyed view of the door and space to rest his crutches nearby. The guitar case was propped up out of the way near his dresser.

Dropping his and Michael’s clothes into the hamper, Alex noticed the sleep pants were still on the foot of the bed. Talk about cruel and unusual, Michael never managed to wear much of anything in bed and why, despite praying to God for mercy, would tonight be any different?

He sat on the edge of the bed, and nestled his crutches between the bed and nightstand. A brush of fingertips reassured him of the easy reach of his gun between the headboard and wall. Michael had already plugged in his phone thoughtfully. Finally, unable to delay it any longer, Alex dropped his sleep pants to the floor to inspect his stump. The main swelling had gone down after he had removed the prosthesis, but there was still a tender and inflamed puffy look around the scars, chasing up to his knee. 

The end of the day, especially one with the type of emotional swings that he had had to manage earlier, brought the same level of depressed fatigue and disgust that had become a familiar companion post-IED and remained with him still. With a tired sigh, he squirted a healthy amount of arnica and vitamin E ointment into his hand to massage into the damaged skin, letting his mind go blank and numb in the needed routine. 

This day was going to be a good memory to hold onto, he decided. His brain kept wanting to change it, but he held firm to the earlier happy glow he had witnessed on Michael’s face with the guitar and swallowed down his dark feelings. 

Shifting next to him with the rustle of sheets, Michael murmured softly, “Want some help with that?”

“You don’t have to-”

“Alex. Yes, or no, tell me what you want.” 

Mutely Alex shifted closer to Michael, pulling the blankets down to leave his right leg bare and handed him the ointment. “Yes.”

Huffing a soft laugh, “Progress,” Michael observed before sitting up to squeeze a dollop from the tube to work gently into the residual limb with his warmer-than-standard hands. “Looks like you overdid it a bit today.”

“Hmmm, too much walking in Target to find those damn Christmas lights.” Alex closed his eyes, relaxing at Michael’s skillful touch. All of his dark thoughts that circled ominously, like vultures waiting to pick at his hoarded moments of happiness, were chased away by the care in Michael’s hands. “It was worth it though, belated decorating aside. This is easily the best Christmas I’ve ever had.” He opened one eye to look at Michael in the dim light. “How about you? The guitar wasn’t too much?”

“Other than the fact I think you probably spent too much money on me, no, it’s fine.” Michael glanced down in concern, watching as Alex exhaled in relief and then continued in a light voice, “You were really worried about it?”

“Sure was. Kinda went back and forth about a million times about it. ‘Cause last time I gave you a guitar it didn’t actually end well for either of us, but especially you. Didn’t want to stir up any bad ghosts. Also I don’t know if you noticed, but I'm good at overthinking stuff.”

Michael was silent for a moment, slowly working his hands over Alex’s leg intently until Alex brought a hand up to still them. “Good then?” He asked, as Alex nodded in heavy-lidded confirmation. “Listen, I ah, I wanna give you somethin’ too.”

“You don’t have to give me anything.”

“I know, but I want to.” Michael shifted again, pulling up the blankets to cover Alex and then propped himself up on an elbow to look down at him. “You started to ask me about the console earlier-”

Alex switched from languid to sharp-eyed in an instant at the mention. “Yes! You said nothing happened during those hours you were holding it.”

“I didn’t lie, nothing did happen to me at the time, that I was aware of at least,” Michael defended. He accurately read the betrayed tone in Alex’s voice and continued in explanation, “We had that fight, then I went to work, and then I-”

“Broke into the loft at the Wild Pony and got wasted,” Alex finished, his voice dry. “I heard. From Maria.”

“Well in between that, I actually took a nap in my old bunker. I didn’t exactly sleep great after we watched those videos of my mom. It’s why I went down to your bunker to work on my ship console. It’s kind of funny, we each have our own bunker. Kinda makes you think there are too many fucking bunkers in Roswell,” Michael trailed off.

“Michael,” Alex shot him a sharp glare at the delay, “focus.”

Nervously he licked his lower lip, and brought his free hand up to rest lightly on Alex’s chest, tracing the swell of muscle with a fingertip. “Right. Anyway, I dreamed about my mom, but it was more. It was like a timer went off in my head, and suddenly I had all of these memories from her. Things she wanted to teach me. It was the trippiest thing. I took a catnap and woke up with her two hundred years of experience.”

“What the fuck. Was it _her_ that did that? Or the ship?” Alex covered Michael’s hand, holding it against his chest firmly. He couldn’t begin to address the longevity Michael referenced regarding his mother, if that was a lifespan lengthened offworld but shortened on earth, or if Michael might end up with the same long lifespan.

“Both? Or she left it in my head, but the ship unlocked it? I don’t know. I just, I learned how to do a few things, like the mental stuff.” Guessing the direction of Alex’s thoughts, he continued morosely, “I still don’t know how to heal. That was apparently a very rare ability for my people.”

“Still, that’s amazing, Michael. You have good memories of her then?” 

“Not really, I mean, I have impressions of her? But the skills she gave me are like when you hear a song you’ve heard a thousand times. Like you have the memory of certain times when you heard it, but you might not remember that exact moment when you knew all the lyrics. If that makes sense.” 

It was moments like this that Alex felt that intense pang of how unfair it was that Michael never made it to university. The way his mind worked and translated complicated concepts never failed to impress Alex and it was a massive waste that the classroom wasn’t where Michael had ended up. He thought back to when they were still teenagers, when his dreams were about songwriting and while he pictured Michael as a professor.

“Actually that makes a lot of sense,” he commented, and then shared his train of thought out loud to Michael, “you make a great teacher, you know. I’ve always known how smart you are, but it’s when you make me feel just as smart as you, that it really becomes clear.”

Predictably Michael turned his head away in embarrassment, but squeezed Alex’s hand in response. “Anyway,” he interjected, “I was going somewhere with this. If you’re game, I’d like to try something.”

Laying in bed in the darkness, with Michael pressed against him with just a thin cotton barrier between them, predictably sent Alex’s brain in certain directions. Whether Michael caught the increased heartbeat, or he just knew Alex so well, he chuckled in the quiet, a little dirty and knowing, “Okay, yeah, I didn’t mean it as a sex thing, but-”

“But?”

“What you said about overthinkin’ stuff,” Michael began, his voice dropping low, “I have a way to help with that. How much do you know about the bond print? Err, sorry, the handprint?”

Alex stopped breathing for a second, before clearing his throat. “It happens after healing, and it allows for sharing emotions. Wait you said you can’t heal-”

“Max feels- er, felt things really intensely, like nothing in his life was casual. I really blame all the Russian literature, it’s just not healthy to read Solzhenitsyn as a moody teenager,” he babbled, his nervousness obvious to Alex. “Anyway, since he didn't go around healing people without it being family, or Liz, the people he loved deeply, he left the print. But he didn’t have to, the print is about communication, about being known to another person.”

Several thoughts came to mind as Alex digested that disclosure. The idea of knowing Michael fully, knowing how he felt and what he wanted was both attractive and terrifying to contemplate. Was he ready to shed all of his own fears in return? After a few moments, still holding Michael’s hand close to his rapidly beating heart, he selected the first, less obvious question to ask. “When Max healed your neck and your hand, why didn’t he leave a handprint then?”

“All this time, and I still can’t figure out how your brain works.”

“Thanks?”

“Uh huh, well, I don’t know if a human can learn to block the bond, but apparently my people can? If we are in a state of shock or high emotion, we can, I guess, refuse to be known?” Michael dropped his gaze down again, swallowing hard as the grief took over, “After Caulfield-”

Alex dropped Michael’s hand, and started to push himself upright to comfort him. He reached for Michael’s face, rubbing his thumb over the stubble of his jawline, “Oh hey, no, I’m sorry I asked.”

Michael closed his eyes, as a tear slipped down his cheek and turned his face into Alex’s touch, as he whispered roughly, “Losing her, my mom like that, I didn’t want to be known by anyone. Not by Max, and not by you.” He lifted his face away, his eyes still wet as his smile wobbled, “That’s why you found me at the Wild Pony.”

“I figured,” Alex replied, his throat tight. 

“I know now that I hurt you by doing that. It’s a fucking weak excuse to tell you that I really didn’t think you would care. ‘Cause it doesn’t change the fact you did.”

“Michael.” He started to tell him that it was fine. That he understood. Except on one level, as much as they had laid out the pain and wounds that had been exchanged between them, some targeted, some merely shrapnel from outside forces, there was the unavoidable fact that it wasn’t fine. Discarding the emotions of it, which he was never going to find comfort with, Alex fell into the cold facts of what happened. “I wasn’t what you needed then, or wanted. And that’s okay. You are allowed to make that choice for yourself. You went through something unimaginably terrible, how could I begrudge you for turning to someone who made that a little better for you?”

The hurt miserable laugh that escaped from Michael as he pressed his lips against Alex’s palm in a kiss, sent a chill down Alex’s spine.

“You were exactly what I needed after Caulfield, Alex. You make everything, fucking everything, in my miserable life better. This whole month, every minute of it, you made me feel whole. I can take a full breath because of you. I am okay, and that’s so much more than I deserve to be. And I tried to fight it, especially early on when I was a dick to you, but as it turns out, hurting you so I could make myself miserable isn’t worth it.”

Alex was frozen, his hand still against Michael’s face as he worked to understand just what he had said. The first three thoughts circled back to Michael still being drunk, or perhaps this was delayed gratitude for helping keep them safe from the police investigation. For all that Michael spoke of not feeling like he deserved to feel okay, it was shockingly clear in Alex’s mind he shared that same sentiment. Their broken pieces were shattered on the same fault lines, not necessarily the mirror opposite that would fit together in the same way.

Michael kissed his thumb softly, looking up at him, “I can see by your face you are having a hard time believing me. If you let me do this, open up the bond print, you’ll get it. You’ll see that as nice as Maria is, she doesn’t have nearly the power you do. You’ll feel what I feel. Um, just what _I_ feel, if you’re worried about your privacy. This is a one-way street.” 

There was a brief moment of disappointment for Alex hearing that, but the lure of Michael’s offer was too strong to deny. “Okay. Do it.” 

“Yeah?” Michael smiled brilliantly as he sat in bed, and gently pressed Alex back on the mattress. He spread his palm flat on Alex’s chest, directly over his heart, its beat strong and quick beneath the touch. Michael’s eyes flickered down at his hand and then to Alex’s tense gaze, his lips quirking with shy pleasure at what was about to happen. “Merry Christmas.”

Michael’s hand didn’t change in temperature, even as a red glow started to build in his palm. It was reminiscent of how his mother had communicated in those last doomed moments at Caulfield. And like that too-short interval from before, there was no pain on Michael’s face, just rapturous joy. 

Alex stored that snap shot of Michael’s face, looking so unbelievably happy, away in the place he hoarded his good memories.

It was the last clear thought he had. 

Oh. It was a lot. 

His therapist had warned him a long time ago that trauma had changed his brain patterns forever. It wasn’t just psych jargon to understand that his electrical pathways of experiencing pleasure and joy were forever altered after his childhood. His doctor had argued to him that comparative MRIs would prove it. The therapeutic homework of practicing pleasure and reacquainting his body to positive feelings had been taken with a dose of skepticism. Michael had always made him feel okay in receiving and giving pleasure, but later Alex realized it wasn’t necessarily the comfort of sex that was the issue, it was happiness. 

Michael loved him. 

It washed all over his mind, like standing under a waterfall. The torrential press of love, joy, peace beat down on the brittle feelings of shame, of self-hatred, of feeling like Alex had been made wrong in some way right from the start, after all, why didn’t his father love him? 

Michael loved him.

Water was the most destructive and the most transformative force on earth. It was relentless. It sought out cracks, pouring into the hollows while it filled the caverns. Once inside, if needed, it could freeze and expand, to break down defenses, until the path was clear. It nurtured with the same unstoppable power, feeding the roots, nourishing the parched throats, cleansing the wounds and washing away the filth. 

Michael loved him.

It was infinite. It was one thing to know it intellectually, after all, Michael had said it once to him, present tense and all. This connection made Alex feel ashamed, because now he knew he had never really believed it. It wasn’t Michael’s fault though; the core truth was Alex had made it 28 years believing he was the issue, that he was unlovable. Any words that Michael had said, Alex had dismissed as something shallow, or perhaps the result of a trick.

The connection battered at that belief until Alex had to discard it as false.

The next feeling he was aware of, was Michael’s hand again, no longer on his chest, but rubbing soothingly on his cheek, wiping away the tears that ran freely down his face. “You okay? Um was it too much? Me? I didn’t break you, did I?”

Mutely, Alex shook his head. He could still feel the press of love inside him, shaded with tones of concern and a tiny thread of insecurity that was woven in nearly everything Michael felt. “You’re perfect.”

A blush settled on Michael’s cheeks as he looked away quickly. “So you understand? About Maria? I could love her, you know, but not like you, Alex.”

Alex felt it, as Michael said her name, the light stroke of pleasure and disbelief, like a thin ink on a paper, but as Michael turned his thoughts to Alex, the line grew thicker, darker, rooted in forever. A pen sketch on skin versus a tattoo. 

“Yes,” Alex replied, and reached for Michael’s face bringing him to his lips. He kept both hands on Michael’s jaw, using the hold to bring his head up from the pillow and slide their mouths together in a deep kiss. 

Michael made a soft muffled sound against his mouth, his free hand sliding up to curl around Alex’s neck, rubbing his fingers against the rasp of the freshly shaved hair as he kissed him back for a long moment. Abruptly he broke away, panting roughly as his eyes skated down to Alex’s bare chest. “Wait, wait, this might be from-” He swallowed, as Alex cut off his words with another kiss.

Alex broke the kiss with a satisfied smirk, “No, this is definitely me, Michael.”

“The mark will show up later, but it’s still there. You’re feeling what I feel.”

“No, I’m feeling what I’ve felt every day of my life since I was seventeen,” Alex threaded his fingers into Michael’s hair, tugging very gently on the curls, knowing that the tentative disbelief roiling inside of him from Michael was about to disappear. “I don’t look away, okay? I haven’t. I won’t. And I know, oh God, I can feel it inside of me that it’s the same for you.”

Michael closed his eyes at the sensation, and surrendered easily, “Then, I really want you to fuck me.”

The clear pronouncement sent a shiver of anticipation down Alex’s spine. His desires smoothly aligned with Michael’s, bolstered by the unshakable sense of right that the connection gave him. There was no room for doubt under the cascade of love. The Beatles indeed, Alex thought, calling back to Michael’s overheard comment to Isobel. It was rather silly to contemplate success engaging in any physical act that would come close to evening the scales from the flow of love from Michael, but Alex wanted to give it the old college try.

Dear God, how Alex wanted. 

“You want me inside you?” Alex purred in his ear, as Michael gasped softly in agreement. Out loud, so Michael could know, he continued, “I want that too.” He moved, pressing his face into the delightfully rough stubble of Michael’s neck, and braced with one hand to slide his right thigh over Michael’s hips to grind his hard cock against his stomach. Sitting back, Alex looked down at Michael’s thin white briefs, already damp from arousal. 

With scrabbling fingers, Michael shifted under him, tugging off the briefs with sloppy movements. Alex felt the press of Michael’s power hold him steady in balance, as Michael kicked off the offending underwear and then turned his attention to Alex’s boxer briefs. Another brief wrap of unseen force curled around Alex’s hips as he was quickly stripped.

“Satisfied?” Alex smirked, before he wrapped his hand around both of their cocks. “Oh, I can feel you are. So smug.”

Michael shivered at the touch, and wrapped one arm around Alex’s lower back as he widened his legs to increase the contact as Alex stroked and ground down on him. “I am. Fuck.”

“Mmmm,” Alex leaned back down, secure in how Michael had braced his right side and bit down on his neck in response. The electric bite of arousal inside Alex perfectly mirrored the surge upward from Michael. It was intoxicating to see and feel the feedback of his touch on Michael. He shifted backward again for room, and ran both palms down Michael’s thighs, skating close to his cock but not touching. The arousal turned into frustrated heat, as a soft whine escaped from Michael’s lips.

“Shhh, your sister is next door and these walls aren’t that thick,” Alex whispered. 

Michael laughed hoarsely, “Fuck. Don’t talk about her while you’re doing that.”

He brought his hand lower, pressing his dry thumb gently against Michael’s hole. The frustration from the bond morphed into a bottomless need, though Michael kept the whine silent this time. “God, you really want it, don’t you?” Alex softly observed, rubbing his finger lightly against him. Sweat allowed a tiny give as he pressed the edge of his calloused thumb inside.

“Please, please, I need it, need you.” Michael’s hips bucked into the questing touch as he lost control of a low moan. “Killin’ me.”

“Be good, okay? I know you can be good for me,” He felt the heavy thrum of need again at the words, something he had always suspected Michael craved in sex. The praise and reassurance that he was pleasing Alex always sent him over the edge. With both hands, he held Michael’s legs apart, until Michael’s hands took over for him to hold himself open. “Good,” he praised, tipping his head to the side to press an open mouthed kiss against Michael’s knee.

Michael’s cock jumped a bit at the word, mimicking the hot squirming feeling of satisfaction that Alex felt from the bond.

Alex reached for the lube, thumbing the lid open and squirted a healthy amount right on Michael’s hole. This time the jump was both physical and psychic, causing Alex to reach down to press the heel of his hand against his own cock at the sudden surge, chasing it away with a firm touch. Fuck. The responses were so overwhelming, he found himself closer to an orgasm than his ego strictly enjoyed observing. 

Michael grinned, cheekily, having not missed a second his reaction at all. “Sorry.”

Alex lifted his eyebrow in challenge, then pushed his two fingers through the warming lube into Michael with an unceremonious stretch and burn. He bit his lower lip as he pressed deep and then dragged them downward against Michael’s prostate. The lightning that seized his senses was the only warning he had to clamp his free hand against Michael’s mouth, muffling the needy cry.

Hopefully Isobel was a deep sleeper after the wine she had consumed.

“Shhhh, Michael.” Alex slowly brought his hand away after pressing his thumb against Michael’s bitten lower lip. Michael swiped his tongue at him, sucking lightly in response. “You are being so good, but you have to be quiet.”

“Fuck, Alex… I can’t.”

He tilted his head thoughtfully; only his own ragged breathing gave away the precarious hold his restraint had on him. “You can, I can feel it.” He tapped his hand against his chest, as he moved his fingers inside Michael, stroking and stretching the tightness. “You’re right here, telling me everything you want and I’m gonna give it to you.”

“Gonna be dead by then,” Michael panted, as he ground his hips down hard against Alex’s fingers.

Alex brought his fingers closed, and then slipped his thumb against Michael’s rim, testing the give, before easing it in to give him three. The slight rub of a fourth finger along the outside sent such a shudder of absolute need and desire from the bond that Alex had to shut his eyes tightly and attempt to visualize his last two-factor authentication security hack attempt in his mind instead. 

“All right, all right, I know,” Alex soothed him, sliding his fingers out and blindly reaching for where the condoms were. One abruptly slapped him in the face, and judging by the half-drunk giggle from Michael, it wasn’t by accident with his telekinesis. “Careful there.” The dark warning just sparked another pulse of desire coupled with challenge, as if Michael was urging him to make good on his words.

Flat on his back, his eyes dark with need, Michael clutched his hands again, attempting to widen the hold he had on his legs in entreaty. His curls looked damp from sweat and his body glowed with joy. Alex didn’t even need the handprint to feel the absolute love radiating from him. 

With slightly shaking fingers, Alex dropped his gaze to focus on unwrapping the condom and rolling it on. He did his best to keep his touch clinical and brief, determined not to come before he could get inside of Michael. With care, he pressed the head of his cock against Michael. There was a brief moment of resistance, and then he slid into him so smoothly, so easily he almost lost it from the feedback from Michael. 

It was one thing to suspect his partner enjoyed bottoming, Michael had never been shy about hiding his pleasure over having Alex inside him in the past, but it was altogether new to feel how deep the satisfaction went. Alex shut his eyes again, feeling the burn of tears, and he felt just how Michael wordlessly sent waves of ‘keep me’ ‘have me’ ‘i’m here’ ‘i’m yours’ through the connection. 

Michael groaned softly, whispering a harsh repetition of, “Yes, yes, yes,” as Alex bottomed out inside of him. He brought his hands up to Alex’s back, tugging him closer, and urged him deeper inside.

Systems index, directory, yes/no Id=yes, directory no, Alex thought to himself, holding onto his sanity with the barest of margins as he pressed his face into Michael’s slick neck. He allowed himself another moment, just enjoying the heat and closeness, before he pulled back and thrust once. 

Michael’s breath hitched, as he let go of his legs to wrap them behind Alex’s back. He brought his hands back down to brace against the bed and lift with Alex’s hips, encouraging the deep movement. The touch of Alex’s mouth on his throat brought a soft desperate noise that Alex muffled with a kiss. 

It took a moment of balance, to steady himself on his right knee and then use his hands tight on Michael’s hips to drive into him. The blessing of concentrating his strength in his upper body during his physical therapy meant that he only barely missed the leverage of a right foot against the bed. Barely. He used to be able to fuck Michael properly without thinking about it. 

As if he had sensed Alex’s brief preoccupation with his body, Michael sent a strong wave of desire and attraction to him, and braced his right side again with a wave of power to balance. 

“Must not be doing this right,” Alex breathed raggedly in reply, “if you’ve got the concentration to do that.”

“Lots of practice,” Michael smirked, and tilted his hips again, chasing the feeling of Alex inside him.

Jealousy swept over him, as he tightened his grip and began to fuck him in earnest, deep and hard. Michael pressed his hand over his mouth, attempting to muffle the sounds, as he sent waves of ecstasy toward Alex along with another brush of desire and apology. 

His jealousy wasn’t well hidden from Michael apparently.

Alex moved his mouth over to kiss Michael firmly, swallowing the sounds as he fell back into the rhythm. Having Michael under him, his heels digging into Alex’s back to urge him on, sent him closer to the edge. The thought that he almost lost this for good slipped in and out of focus, his father and his vendetta, Caulfield, all of it swam in the background but was never able to take root under the influence of Michael sending ‘love this’ ‘love you’ at him. 

The low, familiar whine under his mouth from Michael caused his movements to stutter because he knew that sound intimately. Michael was so close, almost there. The connection was close to killing Alex already, he had no idea whether he could survive the aftermath of an orgasm.

He couldn’t wait to find out. 

Alex reached down between them, to wrap his fingers around Michael’s cock, and began to stroke him firmly as he moved his hips rough and fast, tilting to drag his cock against Michael’s prostate. He turned his head to speak directly into his ear, “You’re doing so good, feel so good around me, I can feel it, you’re almost there. You’re going to be good and come for me-”

“Alex,” Michael whimpered, low in his throat and then-

That was it. It was white. It was black. The closest comparison Alex had in his memory was those milliseconds between the shockwave and the blast, when the world stopped entirely. This, here, was not destructive but it was no less powerful. Alex lost a brief sense of time, just abruptly felt the rush of blood in his ears, the thump of Micheal’s heartbeat below him. 

“Fuck,” Michael whispered roughly, his legs weakly falling away to the bed.

Alex dropped heavily onto him, feeling the pleasure and overload faintly and pressed even closer to Michael, as their skin slid on the light sheen of sweat between them. He stroked his hands on whatever skin he could reach, enjoying the trembling aftermath of his muscles being well-used. “Merry Christmas.”

Michael snorted in return, and started to giggle.

“Shhh, your sister,” Alex scolded quietly, unable to hold back his grin, as he gingerly reached down to hold onto the condom as he pulled out. He ignored the whine of protest from Michael and the pulse of mild disappointment from the handprint bond at their separation.

“Sorry, sorry,” Michael whispered back mirroring his grin, his eyes light and teasing, “no returns on that gift, sorry.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

It took several long minutes for them both to summon the energy to move and clean up. Michael tip-toed into the bathroom for a pair of washcloths, as Alex disposed of the condom and scrubbed his discarded shirt against the sheets to mop up the mess. Afterward, Michael slipped back into the sheets, and curled up against Alex’s back warmly. 

The connection remained open, pressing contentment, warmth, security and love into Alex’s mind. It reminded him that it was sadly one-sided. He was the appreciative audience for Michael’s whole being at the moment, but it was up to him to be brave and share with Michael his own feelings. 

Quietly, as he squeezed Michael’s arm around his waist tighter, he murmured just on the edge of sleep, “I want to be known by you too. Love you, Michael.” 

When Alex awoke, the handprint had fully formed on his chest, shining in an iridescent display of color and light not dissimilar to the reaction the console had to being handled.

None of that registered as he became aware of three facts simultaneously; his bed was empty, his phone was emitting several loud alerts notifying him of a tripped security beacon from his system, and Michael was in all-consuming agony.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ya'll alive after that? Good good. I hope to be back by Monday with chapter 20. Stay safe out there.


	20. Chapter 20

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay! I have been sick (not corvid related I don't think). Thanks for hanging in there, especially after the cliffhanger. I did not mean to torture you guys for that long! Anyway- we're in AU territory here. Compliant through 1x13 only.

In a crisis it was important to be calm, to cleave the truth of the situation from the emotion of it.

When it came to Michael, Alex rarely knew calm.

The immediate instinctive response to any threat kicked in automatically. He launched himself upright, palming his gun from the headboard holster in one smooth movement and sighted on the bedroom door with the trigger lock clicked off. 

His phone continued to chirp in the background the loud perimeter breach alert. 

Straining his senses, Alex heard no movement in the cabin, and after a long moment, his brain pressed information through the panic to identify the type of alert from his app. As probably an overkill, he had assigned differing sounds based on motion toward a camera, versus motion away from the camera. It wasn’t an incoming approach to the cabin. 

With care, he thumbed the safety lock on his weapon, and slid the firearm back into the holster. Alex pressed his hand against the mark on his chest and said, out loud for himself and for the universe, “He’s not dead.” The disorientation from his hasty awakening cleared, and he concentrated on the feelings coming from the bond. Michael was definitely alive. Idly he wondered if this was what Liz had felt once, only to have the feeling vanish in the most disconcerting of ways. 

First thing he needed was knowledge. He grabbed his phone off the nightstand, silencing the alerts with a swipe. Alex bit his lip and opened up the history of the app. The first alert was an hour ago, and it was Michael’s truck heading down the driveway. A wave of snow preceding the truck, as he plowed the overnight accumulation from the path to the road with his telekinesis. Just behind the truck, Alex noted Isobel’s SUV, where she was presumably taking Kyle back into town to bring his mother a Christmas morning breakfast. 

Three successive cameras caught Michael’s departure from the cabin, as he cleared the drive down to the county maintained road. It was an incredibly thoughtful gesture by him that was probably motivated by Michael’s desire to get rid of Kyle as soon as he could. Instead of turning around though, to head back to the cabin where Alex was still sleeping, Michael’s truck made a right and disappeared from view.

Alex closed his eyes for a quick moment, cursing under his breath and then opened up the second set of alerts, the louder set that were installed at the cave to protect the pods. Sure enough, the perimeter motion detector flagged the heat and passage of a tall figure in a black hat cutting through the sea of white toward the cave. The final beacon, the loudest by far, picked up the image of Michael walking to the cave toward the pods. 

The cabin was secure at least, but empty.

For a moment, Alex considered he had dreamed the night before. Hearing Michael explain honestly why he had sought out Maria, his regret in hurting Alex, his desire to stop punishing himself for Caulfield because it just made them both miserable felt a little unreal to him still. The handprint, gleaming on his bare chest, brushed that thought aside. Then there was the pleasant ache in Alex’s muscles from the sex the night before to further disprove the idea.

Michael was still in pain, but alone at the cave.

Alex grabbed his crutches and hopped over to start the process of going after Michael. After last night, there was little doubt he wouldn’t follow the feeling that was radiating in his chest. At first the agony was thought to be physical, but that was just how Alex’s brain was wired to interpret pain after his childhood and later Iraq. After the panic subsided, he started to figure out the nuance of the bond and realized that Michael was telegraphing an outpouring of grief and despair. 

With the recent snowfall over the already uneven ground, Alex took deliberate care in attaching his leg to his stump. Thankfully the swelling from last night was gone, lending to a clean seal with the multiple socks and liner smoothed over. He couldn’t afford a fall. 

Weirdly, as he finished getting dressed, the last thing he wished to put on was a long sleeve shirt and sweater. Something in his brain stuttered at the idea of covering the mark that Michael had left, even though the outside temperature of 25 made it a necessity. In the back of his mind he wondered if that was an alien after-effect or just a previously uncovered desire to be claimed by someone, especially Michael.

Later, he would have time to examine any new kinks he might now have.

Once dressed, he tossed his pills down his throat with a quick swallow of tap water, and stuffed his arms into his jacket, when the odd crinkle of plastic in the liner halted him. Fishing deep into his pockets, he found his favorite protein bar on one side of the jacket and a chocolate Santa in the other.

Michael. Was this his version of a stocking stuffer hiding both useful and decadent treats in his pockets? 

Stuffing half of the protein bar into his mouth to chew, he grabbed his utility cane from the entryway to head out. The cold late December air slapped him hard in the face as he ducked outside to his SUV. The pulse of misery inside his chest matched the bleak feeling of the weather and it kept him moving to his car instead of returning to his bed.

Michael had thoughtfully cleared off his car at least, he mused darkly, as he headed toward the cave and pods. The county had kept their roads maintained, cleared of snow and salted, until he reached the turn off for the service road that marked the best way of reaching the mines. Glaring twin ruts, cutting obvious tracks toward where the pods were set Alex’s anxiety on edge but that was a later problem to solve.

He navigated with four wheel drive through the slippery terrain with his left hand on the wheel, and his right hand still pressed against his chest over the mark. This was probably grief, he reasoned. It was Christmas and his brother was in a pod, no closer to being saved than he was a month ago. Grief, while wild and unpredictable, was something he had logged practice in dealing with since Michael had moved into the cabin.

Grief was the better outcome than regret. 

Alex left his SUV parked next to Michael’s truck, and grabbed his cane before sinking into the six inch slush with both boots. Reluctantly he brought his hand away from the handprint to use it for balance as he followed in Michael’s footsteps toward the mines.

He keyed in an override to the system, keeping the alarms silenced as he stomped over the terrain to make it to the mouth of the mine opening. He leaned his cane against the wall, and pulled the flimsy wooden door away with a too loud for his liking crash. 

The mark maintained the unchanged rhythm of misery and regret, with no pulse of surprise or fear as Alex moved deeper into the mine and came across Michael sitting motionless in a cheap plastic chair in front of the pod.

It was not Max’s pod, where Michael had set up his vigil, but the pod holding his father.

Michael had pulled away the blanket shielding the view of Jesse Manes and was currently gripping the arms of the chair with white knuckles, as the mark roiled under dark emotions. At the sound of Alex’s steps, he spoke without turning around, “I never understood what you meant that night. What you said about your dad.”

“What are you doing here?” Alex asked warily, keeping one eye on his father’s slack features.

“You thought you were like him. Why did you think that?” 

He touched his hand to the mark again, feeling his way through the mix of feelings before drawing his shoulders back firmly. If Alex wanted to be known, then that started with honesty. “Just when I first got back to Roswell, it was his game I was playing. Trying to shame him into treating me better by calling out his antiquated homophobic attitudes, then when I couldn’t get him to respect me in a uniform, I um, tried to outmaneuver him with Project Shepherd. Thought I could get him out of the way and instead, I nearly got you and Kyle killed.”

Michael blinked, keeping his eyes fixed in front of him at the pod, and the resigned misery abruptly changed into confusion.

Following the hints from the connection, Alex continued, “I have always been fighting his battles, on his terms, so he would respect me as his adversary. To do that I had to be more ruthless than him. I had to cut out anything or anyone that could be used against me by him. Like you.” He stepped in front of Michael, blocking his view for a moment, forcing Michael to look up at him. “He always won when I did that and I don’t want to fight on his terms anymore. That’s what I meant that night when I said I shouldn’t have left you behind. Staying away from you didn’t keep you safe, and it certainly didn’t keep me safe.”

The confusion slipped away again with grief and resignation taking back over in the mark. Michael focused on the hand Alex’s still had pressed against his chest, “Is it bothering you? The mark?”

“No, not at all,” Alex dropped the hand away to stuff into his pocket. “You know you gave me a heart attack this morning, though, between what I was feeling and my phone going nuts because of the security beacons.”

“Sorry.” Michael lifted a corner of his mouth in a smile, but was still worryingly quiet and subdued, even as he was telegraphing remorse at Alex. He gestured with his fingers, dragging a chair against the rough cave floor with his telekinesis for Alex. “I didn’t mean to do that.”

“No? Leaving me in bed while you plowed our driveway for Isobel was one thing, but why didn’t you come back to the cabin?”

Michael took a long deep breath in response, and let it out slowly. “You know, that does help. The deep breath. I can see why you do it when you want to say something.”

The mark was still emitting remorse and sorrow. The well-worn patterns of before, briefly weakened by last night, rose up in his mind to take a strong hold of his throat. He had spent far longer in his life believing the worst would happen, than having a shred of optimism. Fuck. Did Michael regret what happened after all?

Alex’s legs felt weak as the anxiety started to build. He sat down sharply in the offered chair, sending a protest of abuse from the cup of his prosthesis. “You’re still giving me a heart attack right now.” He kept his eyes on Michael, ignoring the floating specter of his father in the background. “What’s going on?”

“Shit! Sorry,” Michael reached out to find Alex’s hand, where it was creeping back up to press against the mark. “I don’t even need the mark to see I’m fucking this up. I’m sorry, I’m freaking you out. It’s just, I’m sorta freaking out myself right now, but it’s not about you, okay? Or last night.” Michael threaded his fingers in Alex’s, squeezing firmly, and kept himself turned away from the pod. His gold-brown eyes were still soft and wondering as they drank in Alex’s face, “I could never regret that, sweetheart.”

The use of ‘sweetheart’ along with a new push of love brought a faint smile to Alex as he relaxed minutely. “Okay, if it’s not me, then what’s freaking you out?”

“It’s stupid.”

“Michael, I didn’t almost shoot my wall, drive here, hike through the snow because I’m indifferent to what’s going on with you. And that was before last night’s … um, development,” Alex stated patiently, before threading his cold fingers through Michael’s warmer grip. “I know we’re still figuring things out, but talk to me.”

Michael took another deep breath, and sighed. “Historically these talks haven’t gone well, but your family. Specifically, I don’t know what to do about your dad.”

“At the moment there’s nothing to do about him,” Alex answered, his mind working quickly to untangle the apprehension in Michael. “You said yourself that my dad’s in a pod, he can’t hurt us.”

“The pod was never going to be a permanent solution for him, and we both know that.”

That was the unfortunate truth of the matter that Alex was hoping to avoid thinking about for a while longer. It was probably too much to ask that he was allowed to enjoy having Michael back without immediately diving back into an impossible situation. The pod, presumably, was keeping his father in a suspended animation, and once removed, Jesse’s desires for a vendetta would be revived along with his consciousness. 

The war would start all over again, but instead of worrying about peripheral targets, he would have Michael front and center in his life. Using his new position to cement the status of Michael as a human would only go so far. He knew his father wouldn’t be satisfied with the faked DNA test that Sheriff Valenti had provided. 

The cleanest solution was still killing his father, though Alex kept that silent for the moment.

“You want to know what happens when I take him out of the pod?” 

“Maybe,” Michael hedged, the renewed sense of dread and uncertainty taking over again. “If the pod does something to him, like gives him amnesia or something, would you forgive him?”

Alex sat back in the chair, the plastic squeaking ominously under his weight. “Are you asking as a what if scenario, or is this something you think might actually happen?”

“I don’t know.” 

“You know Rosa was fine in Noah’s broken pod. She didn’t lose any memories,” Alex pointed out softly, turning to look at Micheal. There was still a sense of disquiet, but at this point Alex couldn’t tell where his feelings began and Micheal’s ended. “Do you have reason to think differently?”

“Rosa was dead and the pod wasn’t able to act on her cells. There were no existing electro-chemical charges in her brain, not even delta waves. When I was seven, and I stumbled out of the pod that your dad is currently in, I didn’t have any memories of home. I couldn’t speak or understand language, but I knew those things going in.”

“That was after 50 years, and as tempting as it is to leave him to rot in there forever-”

“Time might not make a difference,” Michael cut off, before looking down. “Just, if he comes out, and he doesn’t remember what he did, what will you do? Will you forgive him?”

“Fuck no!” Alex brought their joined hands over to his chest, pressing them against the mark under his clothes. “Just because he might not remember being a monster doesn’t change the fact he is one. It certainly doesn’t change the fact I remember him that way.” He stared intently at Michael, “I wish this mark went both ways, so you could feel just how terrified he still makes me even in the pod.”

The dread instantly flashed into pain, causing Alex to flinch in surprise at the rapid change over from the bond. The patterned blanket floated suddenly from the ground to drop over the top of the pod, obscuring the sleeping features of Jesse Manes from view. Michael scooted the flimsy chair closer to Alex, bringing his free hand up to cup his face gently. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I’m really ruining Christmas morning, aren’t I?”

Alex covered Michael’s hand, turning to press a soft kiss against his palm, even as a part of him still scarcely believed he was allowed such liberties. “Hey, those were valid questions to ask. I don’t want you holding back just because you’re worried I might be upset. I seem to recall you made some pretty strenuous objections when I did the same.”

“Hmm, not sure I like you usin’ my words against me.” Michael closed the scant distance between them, as their breaths became visible in the cold air. He brushed his lips against Alex’s lightly, before deepening the kiss. 

A battering of ‘sorry’ rippled inside his chest as Alex licked into his mouth, before nipping Michael’s lower lip as he pulled back, breathless. “You don’t have to worry, I’m never going to pick my dad over you, Michael. It doesn’t matter if he comes out of that pod on his knees begging for my forgiveness. I was changed by what he did to me growing up, I can’t, I won’t forgive him, to say nothing of what he did to you, and your family.”

Michael looked down at their hands pressed against the mark, his eyes hooded, “What about the rest of your family? Your brother Flint?”

“He’s a true believer like Dad, there’s zero chance he regrets anything.”

“Your dad likes blackmail though, what if all that stuff your brother was working on, was coerced? And he decided he was on the wrong side? Would you welcome him?”

The anxiety was back. 

This time, Alex was able to parse the feeling back to Michael. He tipped his head back to meet Michael’s reluctant gaze. “Honestly? I don’t know. I might hear him out, but I wouldn’t invite him back into my life again. We were never close growing up to begin with, so it’s not a real loss. I can feel how worried you are about this, why?”

“Because it’s family, Alex, I know it’s complicated for us. I think it being Christmas, I started thinking about my brother and how it’s been with him. Next thing I knew, I was driving here to yell at him again for doing this to Isobel and I. Being mad at him is nothing new, I’ve been angry with Max in one form or another since we were seven. Yet, there’s still nothing he could do that would change how much I love him.” Michael squeezed Alex’s hand again, before turning to look at Max’s floating form in the pod. 

“Well I think it’s a little different for you. Max hasn’t rounded up humans and experimented on them. The biggest line he has crossed with you is paying your bail or settling your bar tab.”

“He let me take the fall with Isobel for over ten years, yeah, it was my idea, but he didn’t exactly shy away from making me feel like shit. Then he spread our secret to Liz without thinking twice, and fuck let’s not forget Rosa and my hand.” Michael shook his head bitterly, “For a mild mannered English nerd, he’s a real sanctimonious asshole sometimes, and I’ve got no idea if or when we get him out of the pod, what he’ll be like. Will he be that fun guy that liked doing telekinetic skeet shooting, or will he be that suped-up dick who knew better than anyone? He might want to put humans in cages, who knows.”

Alex opened his mouth and then closed it abruptly, before offering, “I think Liz is going to make sure when he comes out of the pod, Max is just fine. Otherwise what’s the point of resurrecting a boyfriend who won’t be properly sorry for what he did?” He felt the brush of optimism, as a tiny smile stole over Michael’s mouth. Feeling relieved, he continued, “And I don’t think you need to worry about Flint having a change of heart.”

“I just don’t think I could ever sit across from Flint at the dinner table knowing he saw my mom in a cage. Like pass the turkey to the prison guard who watched my mom get tortured? Fuck that.”

“You’ve put a lot of thought into the future,” Alex observed, as the unfamiliar hope lit up inside. This time the feeling was solely his, as he felt a rush of embarrassment hit him at the same time from Michael.

“Well, yeah.” Michael stood up quickly, the chair dropping to its side in his rush. He kept his back to the pods and held out his hands to Alex, “You and I are connected, like, not just with the handprint right now. What we are, is cosmic, forever tied together. Part of that means, I gotta consider the future, your family ain’t going away, and I’ve got to deal with that on some level.”

Alex accepted his hands, pulling himself upright into Michael’s embrace. “You’re my family, Michael. I’ve known that for a long time.”

Snaking his arms around Alex, he held Alex close to his body and tucked the edges of Alex’s jacket between them to keep Alex warm in deference to the cold temperatures. “I guess I’m not used to being picked and put first. Sorry about the whole mess of emotions I’m inflicting on you.”

There it was again, that shared fault line of insecurity that traveled the same pathways inside Alex. Looking at the aging beams bracketing the open cavern, Alex squeezed Michael tighter in answer, attempting to shore up the uncertainty. “Don’t apologize. I’m just glad you’re okay,” he paused with an embarrassed stutter as he caught sight of Max Evans’s body over Michael’s shoulder. “Well not okay, but not being actively hurt? I mean that it’s not something new, I mean-”

Michael placed a finger on his mouth, silencing Alex. “I know what you meant, but it’s clear you didn’t have your coffee yet.”

“Who has time for coffee when there’s a perimeter breach?”

“Did you take your pills on an empty stomach?” Michael watched him expectantly, and sighed at the guilty expression on Alex’s face. 

“I found the treats you hid in my pockets, so not totally empty-”

“All right, I’ll follow you back to the cabin and make you a better breakfast than a Clif Bar and chocolate. Redo this Christmas morning thing,” Michael kept an arm around Alex, to turn and steer him to the mouth of the mine exit. “Maybe make it up to you for scaring you in some way, you get to pick the way.”

“Hmm, are we talking pancakes making up? Or more than just pancakes?”

As Alex followed him out, he turned one last time to look at the covered pod that contained his father. Unwelcome as it was, Michael was right to wonder what the future might look like for them if Jesse Manes was walking around. While Michael had spoken of killing Jesse in the past, at no point during the discussion did Alex pick up any true murderous intent. It reinforced something that Alex had always known, that Michael wasn’t capable of ending anyone's life.

That was fine. Alex was capable and experienced enough in killing for the both of them.

***

Christmas Day passed in a lazy manner after the late breakfast of pancakes, completely opposite from the adrenaline-pumping start of the day. With the bond still active between them, Alex spent the rest of the day following Michael’s swing between the desire to please or care for Alex in some way and the other side of the pendulum, a rocky cycle of sorrow, depression and grief that came on without warning at times.

Michael had once confessed that he would get so caught up in his own head that all he wished to do was get away from himself and it was apparent he had two distractions he employed to that effect. Being of service to someone in some way, either through an unprompted repair or chore, and playing music, calmed the chaos into tranquility. With most of the cabin already military neat, it was music he settled on at last. The new guitar was put through its paces by Michael, cycling through the acoustic catalogs of Bob Dylan and George Harrison, before he tentatively started playing Patsy Cline’s ‘Crazy’ and then ‘I Fall to Pieces’.

His hand on the mark, Alex’s briefly jealous memories of Michael at the Wild Pony faded into thin wisps of inconsequential thought under the steady focus of love. 

By joint decision they decided to shelve any plans on studying the Caulfield footage further until the handprint had completely faded. The potential disaster of the horror being experienced by Alex visually and then reinforced by Michael’s reaction was too great. Predictably Michael objected to Alex watching the videos alone, calling it breaking their deal to share the burden. 

Privately Alex thought with Michael’s mother involved, the equality of emotional labor-share was impossible to achieve between them. However, he was in no hurry to feel the level of devastation he had already witnessed on Michael’s face. He didn’t argue strenuously against the sabbatical from the alien concentration camp videos that were military sponsored and Manes family-supported. 

The days slipped away toward the new year as the connection slowly faded between them. The hesitation between them was gone after that first night with the handprint, and so was any attempt by Alex to hold himself in check under the onslaught of desire that Michael focused on him. One night, Michael had placed his hand back on the fading mark, and shared with Alex the memory of Christmas Eve and how gorgeous Alex looked chasing his pleasure inside Michael’s body. It banished whatever lingering feelings of doubt Alex had about his body’s ability to perform with Michael. It also resulted in a challenge to better that memory for Michael that they both thoroughly enjoyed.

The last night it shimmered on his chest, Alex laid on his back, and allowed Michael to slowly slide into him. The twin experiences of feeling Michael inside him while pushing thoughts of devotion and reverence brought Alex almost immediately to orgasm. There was no room for shame or avoidance with Michael filling every doubt and hesitation with steadfast admiration. Having Michael finish on his chest, rubbing the sweat and seed against the vanishing traces of the mark shortened his refractory time to something closer to a teenager instead of the truer state of an almost 30 year old man on too many prescriptions. 

The first morning the mark was completely gone also coincided with Alex’s first official day at the Roswell base taking up his new duties regarding the project after the holiday break ended. Michael had prepared him breakfast that morning with a solemn expression, taking in the new insignia that shined on his shoulder boards wordlessly.

The kiss they shared on the porch steps was several shades closer to desperate than most of their previous exchanges. Whatever mixed emotions that Michael had, that were now entirely hidden from Alex’s mind, he let Alex leave for the base without a harsh word said about it. It was progress of a sort.

Alex rubbed his lower lip, feeling the slight stubble burn from Michael with a smile as he checked in with the duty station and picked up his new ID badge and access cards. He wished for a moment that he had more than bruised lips from Michael to carry him through his day, but he knew it was entirely too risky to ever show up to work with a handprint on his body. Even covered by his uniform, accidents happened and Alex was completely unwilling to let a selfish desire place Michael back on the radar of the military.

As he waited for his escort to meet him at the threshold of Building E-Tetra, an all too familiar voice greeted him from behind, “Hello, brother.”

“Hello Flint,” Alex turned, and waited patiently for his brother to salute.

A shade slow but within the letter of acknowledgement, even as he doubted the spirit was there, his brother snapped a salute and then took Alex’s badge over to the interface of the doorway. “I’m impressed with the strings you pulled to get this, Alex. Didn’t think you had the stomach for the work.”

Alex accepted the newly programmed badge and clipped it to his pocket. “I wasn’t supportive of the Caulfield project, but I’ve always been interested in research and development. If the type of advances you spoke of are true, the possibilities for cyber expansion and AI innovation are endless.”

With a sideways glance up to the security camera, Flint stepped into Alex’s space and lowered his voice, “I don’t know what your game is-”

“No game, Sergeant. I’m here to serve my country, and as it turns out, my planet, while still upholding the oath I swore to the Constitution. Since you’re not holding elderly beings captive anymore, I accepted the job offer with a clear conscience from General Leighton. If you have an issue with that, I suggest you take it up with him.”

Flint frowned in response, before pushing open the door to the E-Tetra building. “You might want to rethink this, if you think you can serve here and not get your hands dirty.”

Once Alex stepped inside, the blinding white lights and gleaming high gloss floors almost burned his eyes. There was hiss of a positive pressure separate HVAC system, that blew a soft gust of air against his face as he stepped inside the facility. Dozens of uniformed bodies were working in the large warehouse sized building. Unlike the aged surroundings of Caulfield and the lab there, every inch of the Roswell base smelled of clean fresh construction and newly sealed floors. 

A maze of glass walled rooms spread out in both directions, each secured with a reinforced door equipped with a badge screener and palm lock. Considering the level of security that existed at the base gate and exterior doors, it seemed rather close to overkill in Alex’s opinion. No one wore white lab coats, but it was apparent some level of study was going on in the rooms from his vantage point on various soil, rock and other material by gloved and masked personnel.

“I have my orders to give you the grand tour, but keep in mind some of these projects go above even my pay-grade to reveal. Dad could tell you though, if he were around,” Flint explained, with a hint of petulance in his voice.

“My secondary mission is to find out what Bracken did to our Dad,” Alex replied, watching as a man laid out a set of unremarkable looking rocks on a flat table to examine. 

“Right, what Bracken did.”

Alex raised his eyebrow at his brother’s tone, “Are you aware of any other alien who made Roswell its base and might have encountered him?” 

Flint stiffened, “I’m not officially aware of any other hostile, but that doesn’t mean there aren’t.” 

“The General would like me to keep the Project on task and not chase after fantasies,” Alex reminded him, before extending his hand toward the first few glassed rooms. “He is also couriering over the breakdown of active projects to me today, but why don’t you show me what you personally are working on?”

“I split my time between here and Red River. We’ve concentrated our efforts here on material acquisition of the alien crafts, and studying their technology that was recovered. Red River is more of the bio-side of things, with our continued development of an anti-alien serum. My goal, that we’re still in testing over, is developing a weapon that penetrates their shielded transport pods that they use to carry their passengers in atmosphere, so they never make it out of a downed craft alive.”

Alex followed his brother’s footsteps through the facility, working hard at keeping his face interested but impassive while Flint discussed committing war crimes with an excited air. Inside his stomach churned tightly in horror. “Crafts? There were multiple crashes in 1947?”

“We believe they were flying in a type of formation, and their navigational steering acted like one unit, so when one fell out of orbit and descended, the rest followed. At least three crafts were recovered in Roswell, but there were two others north of here,” Flint explained, and then paused. “One actually was recovered near Tohatchi.”

“Tohatchi?” Alex stopped abruptly in the hallway. “That’s where Mom is from on the Res.”

“Weird coincidence, right?” Flint was suddenly brighter in his eagerness to share, “I always wondered how they met, Mom and Dad. I guess this was how, studying the crash site. It makes sense that Dad would never tell that story to us, until we were brought into the project. You’ve got to know about aliens before it made any kind of sense for a zoomy to be smack dab in nowhere town on the Res.”

His questions about their mother and knowledge of aliens died unasked as Flint came to a set of doors at the end of the corridor. Through the glass walls, a sight stole every word from his mouth cleanly. The palm scan and chirp of affirmative identification barely registered as Alex followed him inside the room. 

The hiss of positive air flow brushed Alex’s cheeks as the atmosphere changed over from the chilled, almost morgue level temperature of the main building, into a warm, almost balmy feeling of humidity.

“Yeah, I didn’t expect it to give off heat like that either. Doesn’t make sense biologically, considering the aliens already have a higher than human internal body temperature,” Flint explained, watching Alex’s face closely. “There’s still so much we don’t know about these creatures, even after seventy years of study.”

“Maybe we would know something, had we asked, instead of imprisoning them,” Alex replied, absently, while he struggled to take in what he was looking at.

The military had a pod.

“What you’re looking at, is the alien’s transportation containment pod.”

“This is what they used to survive space travel?” His mind raced at the implications. From his view, the pod looked undamaged and completely intact, much like the trio of pods Michael and the twins had. 

“It has multiple functions, a bit like a swiss army knife. It shields a living being from the effects of presumably bending space and time to cover the distances they did to find earth, keeps a body in a type of stasis if you want it to,” Flint explained, and then started ticking off features on his fingertips, “but it also will modify and change a carbon-based body. The boys in the lab and I joke it’s a transmogrifier.”

Flint looked at him waiting for Alex to appreciate his comment before sighing, deeply wounded at the lack of response. “Transmogrifier, like from Calvin and Hobbes. We used to read those together.”

He ignored the attempt by his brother to draw him into fake remembrance of their childhood. Alex remembered reading those comics with Flint, but they had to be earned through chores and long runs through their neighborhood monitored by their dad. And later the comics were contraband to Alex since he couldn’t seem to follow the senseless and always changing rules of conduct laid out by Jesse.

Instead he was gripped by the sense of deja vu from the first part of Flint’s speech, the multiple functions of the pod. Mimi’s sweet but unfocused voice echoed in his mind, _“They weren’t just for moving from point A to point B.”_

“Modify and change how?” Alex asked.

“We’re still working that out, but it took some doing to open the pod in the first place. Silver trigon works best; the icosahedral symmetry of the molecule is the key. These things are like giant fullerene structures, complete with the same antioxidant potentials that keep a body from aging.” Flint placed his hand on the pod, pressing against it, and the pod stayed resistant in turn. “But what’s really interesting is, once the pod is open, as far as our scientists can tell, there’s a lot of psychic mumbo-jumbo tied into the other functions of it.”

Alex glared a bit at the technical explanation, knowing it was just another example of posturing from his brother. “If you want me to talk to you about advanced logical patterns in AI development, I can, Flint, or we can set aside the egotism-”

Flint held up his hands, his smirk still in place, “Sorry, I forgot my audience for a second. What I am saying is once the pod is open, it works based on intent.”

_“These hands, intent is what matters, for ill or for will. For better or worse.”_

“Intent,” Alex echoed, “how? You’ve tested it on someone from Caulfield?”

His brother’s smirk widened, “Once. The aliens have an innate psychic ability that is species wide, the test subject initially was compliant and collaborative in our study of the pod because it was far more interested in where we found it, than what we were doing with it.”

Someone at Caulfield had been aware of the trio. The mumblings of Noah to Max and Isobel regarding how important they were to their race came to Alex’s mind. Michael had once said early on that humans might not have ever wanted him, but Noah’s actions at the end said he was valuable to someone, somewhere, and when pressed, just finished his bottle of acetone with spread palms of powerlessness, _“I can’t answer the who, everyone is dead.”_

“Anyway, the technology works on a level of thought-direction. If you put someone in there, you’re thinking about how much you hate the being, how much you wish it would shrivel up and die before it could signal home to evade the planet, well, spoiler alert, when you take the alien out, that’s exactly what happens,” Flint tapped his fingers against the pod thoughtfully. “When we pulled the alien out, it was much more talkative once it figured out what had happened. I think it thought we would put it back in to reverse the process.”

“My God,” Alex breathed in horror, his mind picturing just how terrible of an end that was. Temporarily freed from Caulfield only to have their internal organs turn on each other, and devour itself from within. 

“That was a fairly early discovery though, the human trials in the 90s were much more interesting. This alien cargo box can reverse any genetically-linked flaw in a human, by simply rewriting the genetic code until it was flawless. But it's wholesale change, not very subtle at all. We once put a soldier in there with a crippling addiction, like three generations of his family were losers, and what we got back was a credit to the uniform, but was suddenly left-handed and brown-eyed. Couldn’t exactly send him home looking like that.” 

_“The vessel will hold you tight and make you someone else. It’s a change that is so complete you’re remade.”_

The cheerful recitation of a myriad violations of ethical standards by his brother was starting to unnerve Alex. “Who the hell would volunteer for that?”

“Desperate people, Alex, of which this world has no shortage of. It’s all in the documents that the General is sending over to you. We were able to do some good things for people who had exhausted all their options with this tech.” Flint frowned a little, turning his gaze to the pod. “If we don’t fight them when they show up though, I can tell you they won’t be herding us into these things to cure our diseases or erase our addictions, they’ll be using them to wipe our minds and turn us into the perfect slave population.”

There it was. The fear-based xenophobia that fueled atrocities and war crimes. We must kill people to make the world safe. It was such a strange dichotomy. The projection of humanity’s darkest desires became the certain alien motivation.

Later, after the tour of other projects, Alex found his office numbly and locked his door. The worst was the project involving the pod. The most interesting, and one he wished he could invite Michael to join, was related to the alien ship composition and theorized its energy propulsion systems. He could imagine just how excited Michael would be to have access to the exoskeleton of the ship. Picturing his smile and how animated his hands would get, thawed the parts of Alex he had to shut down and close off in order to stay functional on base.

The couriered documents were stacked into boxes in the corner of his office.

Alex fingered his car keys, and glanced at the clock. His new duties and increase in security clearance meant his phone was still locked away in the glove box of the SUV. There were still a few hours of his shift to fill before he could leave and make plans to meet up with Michael and Liz. The question of Liz’s intent when she placed Max in the pod had barely left the surface of his thoughts once Flint had made the reveal. 

She loved Max and was probably thinking about saving him. Hopefully the other thought she had front and center was about reversing the damage Max had done to himself bringing Rosa back. Alex knew that Rosa had helped carry Max to the pod, and that some point, Kyle had arrived. Alex prayed that their intents were pure and uncomplicated by anger at how reckless Max had been. He was suddenly relieved that his father had put into play a police investigation targeting Michael, that Michael and Isobel had been far away from the efforts of placing Max into the pod.

Starting with Flint’s project, Alex began to examine the uses of the pod on human test subjects. Halfway down the page he froze, reading a proposal by a Master Sergeant J. Manes made in 2004. In the midst of a public movement to ban gay marriage by constitutional amendment, J. Manes put forth a proposal to test the pod’s ability to change sexuality, since science was speculating it was a genetically linked trait and offered assistance in obtaining test subjects. The affirmative response to the proposal restricted the test subjects to adults, aged 18 and over.

Alex was just 13 in 2004.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for indulging me in some alien technology musing. Next update is Sunday.


	21. Chapter 21

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much to tasyfa and maura for the speedy quick beta today! I literally couldn't do this without you.

As soon as Alex cleared the gates of the Roswell base, he called Michael. It was something of a minor miracle, but Michael immediately picked up to his relief. “Hey, I was just thinkin’ about you.”

“Hey,” Alex replied, keeping his eyes on the road. He took a deep breath and tried to relax his grip on the steering wheel. “How late do you think you’ll be today?”

He heard Michael exhale tiredly, “I dunno, like seven today? I’ve got a bunch of ‘it made this noise but I was on a road trip so I ignored it’ repairs to make. Like it’s possible to find a garage while you’re vacationing, people, and not drive-”

Alex reached to adjust the heat in the SUV, turning the vents on full to chase away the feeling of cold that had settled inside. Strangely his forehead felt wet with sweat. Alex took another deep breath, and listened to the ramble of Michael’s voice, which seemed further away than the echo of his speaker.

“Hey Private, you’re awfully quiet over there.”

His father had wanted to remake him. His breathing picked up against his efforts at control.

“Alex. Are you okay?” He heard the rustle of metal in the background, like a tool being dropped without care and the jingle of keys. “Tell me where you are, I’m comin’ to you.”

That broke the brief paralysis of his mind as Alex tuned back into his body, and looked around at the surroundings. He had expected to see a pine forest, the fruition of the tall standalone trees that spotted the edges of the old dairy farmland of the base and perhaps the signs of the county road toward the cabin. Instead alongside the road were flat scrub bushes and the brightly colored signs welcoming aliens and tourists alike. Instinct had brought him to Roswell proper, and he was only a few blocks from the industrial outskirts where Sanders and Michael were.

It was slightly alarming he had made the fifteen minute drive without registering much of the trip.

“Actually, I’m five minutes away from Sanders.”

“Don’t hang up then,” Michael instructed sharply, then offered in a more even tone, “So this is a nice surprise. You can watch me try and unfuck some of these cars in person. I swear, just because you can do a thing to a car, doesn’t mean you should. Though I guess I can’t complain. It is, what do you call it, guaranteed job security?”

“Yeah,” Alex replied quietly, and found the arch of Sanders with relief while Michael continued to talk to him as he closed the distance between them. 

Pulling inside the gates, to the left were three closed garage bays that Sanders’s nephew and crew worked out of performing the standard alignment checks and oil changes that made up the bulk of the bread-and-butter of the business. To the right, there was a standalone open walled but covered workshop that once upon a time had had Michael’s trailer abutted to it. Now, in place of the Airstream, the old school bus had moved over to rest across the covered bunker entry, while the free standing metal gazebo took on the mantle of entertainment seating with the fire pit and chairs arranged. 

Alex found Michael easily enough, standing just outside the workshop with his phone against his ear, with an aged Ford Bronco next to him with the hood up and a set of jacks in place. He was dressed in worn jeans, simple white tee-shirt already sporting a broad stripe of oil at the neckline. His left hand was firmly wrapped with a black cloth, the staple of any time spent outside the cabin.

He clicked off the line, and opened the door of his SUV. Alex’s left leg held his weight easily, but his right started to buckle as he stood up from the car. His quick grab on the door frame kept himself upright, even as he mentally berated himself for being weak in the face of what should have been anticipated.

It’s not like his father had ever hid his enmity toward Alex.

That reveal wasn’t what was important though, the news about the pod’s capabilities were. With that in mind, Alex straightened his shoulders, and stepped carefully across the dirt yard to Michael, where he was waiting with a worried expression. 

“You look like shit,” Michael observed, looking up and down Alex’s figure with the typical tension he had at seeing the uniform. At least today’s dress of the day was the standard OCP uniform of beige and greens and not the imposing cut of the service blues.

“Thanks, sweetheart, that’s just what I like to hear.” Alex forced himself to return with a weak smile. He let Michael tug him into an embrace, feeling the press of Michael’s forehead against him. The rich smell of motor oil and that unique alien scent filled Alex’s nose as he brushed his cheek against the stubble of Michael’s before burying his face into the hollow of Michael’s collarbone. 

Michael caught the sudden sag of Alex’s body against his easily, tightening his grip and pressing a soft kiss against Alex’s ear. 

The tension drained slowly, and he blessed his luck that Michael didn’t ask any questions as he held him in a long hug. The burn of tears came to his eyes at the quiet reassurance and support. His father could have killed this before it even began, and he would have never known any different.

Reluctantly Michael broke away, still holding Alex’s shoulders in his hands. He studied Alex’s face for a moment in consideration, before he nodded over to the makeshift couch in the open air garage bay that was once the backseat of a 1971 Buick Riviera. “Take a seat, while I finish up this Bronco. Then we can go get dinner at the Crashdown.”

Alex accepted the offer with relief, thankful that Michael still wasn’t pressing him for an explanation just yet. Wearily he stepped over to the bucket seats to take the weight off his prosthesis. Leaning back, Alex scanned the surroundings of the garage set up with interest. This was a new side of Michael for him to see.

There was a trio of empty beer bottles resting on a wooden crate, and a bucket of mostly melted ice that held a single bottle. He spotted another bottle resting next to the jack stand. Unable to stop himself, he spoke, “You’re allowed to drink on the job?”

Michael, who had just started to lower himself to the ground under the Bronco, froze, then followed Alex’s eyeline to the beer bottle back to the bucket. He shrugged, “Yeah. Sanders doesn’t care as long as the work gets done. It’s not your fancy microbrew IPA but help yourself to the last one if you want. ”

The remnants of the dissociative episode were still present, but Alex picked up the cold bottle to clasp between his palms, soaking in the sting in his fingertips. The chilled bite chased away the numbness in his hands, though the faraway cottonmouth feeling lingered. “Can’t drink in uniform.”

“Reason 1,001 of why I don’t get the point of serving Uncle Sam,” Michael commented, from under the Bronco’s engine. 

“It’s got its perks, like government sponsored healthcare,” he commented blankly, thinking about the next appointment with his prosthetist and then the in-person therapy appointment slated for later that week. Alex shifted on the seat, feeling something protruding in the seat cushions. Digging down, he closed his fingers around a sharp turquoise concho. Pressing his thumb against the familiar piece, he turned to examine the line of customer cars and found the classic red Chevy easily. Maria’s truck.

It wasn’t jealousy that bloomed inside Alex this time. Christmas Eve and the week that followed in bed dismissed any doubts regarding Michael’s feelings for him. Still, seeing the concrete evidence that his own father had sought to change him, reignited the old scars he had with his acceptance with his desires.

Laying in bed at 14, 15, praying that something would change him, to save him from his father’s disgust and disappointment, and in the sickest sense, his father had worked to answer that misguided desire only to be stymied by the government. Falling in love with Michael at 17, feeling at home for the first time with his body had pushed those feelings so far down they were nearly gone.

Nearly.

“Have you talked to Maria lately?”

The scrape of the glider under the car caught Alex’s attention, as Michael stood up and closed the hood of the Bronco with a satisfied slap. “Yeah, kinda.” He looked down at the two items Alex was clutching, the sealed beer bottle and the loose concho. With two fingers he plucked the beer from him and opened it to take a long gulp. “She dropped off her truck this morning. The starter was goin’ and despite ’my stupid face’, I’m still the only mechanic she trusts not to rob her, and that’s a direct quote.”

Alex dropped his eyes to the concho. “Not really what I meant. Have you, ah, told her about us?”

Michael frowned slightly, pausing on taking another drink. “Not really. Have you?”

“No, but that’s because I didn’t think it should come from me.”

“I am not in the practice of tellin’ people personal stuff that you’re not ready to share yourself.”

“So you're doing me the favor then? Altruism at its best.”

“No,” Michael replied, his jaw tight even though his voice never changed timbre. “But I’ve never been the one who wanted to stay quiet about us. And Maria’s your best friend.”

“Well, you were the one who wanted to date her after the investigation was over, but now that things have changed between us-” Alex traced his thumb over the silver edges.

“All right, if you’re cool with it, and sounds like you are, then yeah, I’ll talk to her, tell her that you and I are - whatever we are.”

The uncertain finish of Michael’s thought snagged Alex’s attention. “We’re together,” he stated firmly. He licked his lower lip. “Aren’t we?” 

“Yeah, we are.” The uncertainty vanished as a warm smile broadened on Michael’s face at Alex’s statement, before it faded into concern. “You ready to tell me what had you freaked out earlier on the phone, or do you want to keep pokin’ me about Maria?”

Caught by Michael’s shrewd observation, Alex sighed and tipped his head back against the seat. “I was doing that, wasn’t I? I don’t know why I was doing that. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. You were trying to pick a fight and push me away, I’m real familiar with this particular dance step. Brings back some memories, especially of how you are after your dad has been around. With your dad in a pod, I didn’t expect- wait, fuck me, he’s still in the pod, right?” 

“He’s still in a pod,” Alex cut his eyes over to Michael in assurance before turning to stare up toward the ceiling. He followed the haphazard use of metal pipes and nailed metal sheets that made up the covering over the repair bay. Wrestling with his thoughts about his dad and his childhood, he focused on the more important matter of Michael’s family and the knowledge about the pods. “When you guys put Noah in the pod, who did it?”

The non sequitur caught Michael by surprise, as he finished off his beer to drop in the metal trash barrel next to his work bench. “Um, Max and I did it. Kind of a joint effort.”

“Do you remember what you were thinking about when you did it?”

“Are you being serious right now?” Michael stared at him incredulously, and then seeing how closed Alex’s expression was, relented with a sharp exhale. “I don’t know, um, I was thinking he was a liar and that I hated him. I had spent my whole life wondering where I came from, and the answer to all my questions was playing the role of Mr. Sensitive Husband to Isobel while murdering people on the side. Don’t get me started on how he violated her mind and body. I guess I was thinking that the pod was too comfortable for him, that I wanted to drag him out of the pod and make him answer for what he had done.”

Alex straightened, sharpening on Michael’s words. “Specifically you thought about taking him out of the pod to answer questions?”

“Yeah, now are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

“The military has a pod, maybe more than one, I don’t know. They have done some research on them and they have determined that the pods work on both a physical unlocking but also through a mental intent. If you were thinking about interrogating Noah when you put him in the pod, then it’s probably why he didn’t stay imprisoned for long, and also probably why he was so cooperative after he was ejected from it.” Alex laid out the facts simply, keeping his voice even while watching Michael’s face cycle through fear, curiosity, shame and finally anger.

Michael picked up a discarded bottle and threw it with his TK into the scrap dumpster. The loud explosion of glass made Alex flinch slightly, but Michael paid no mind, sending a second bottle after it to shatter in a satisfying manner. “We gotta get that away from the military then, steal the pod, somehow.”

“We can’t,” Alex protested, “the base is secured, and that pod is behind two reinforced doors and a closed-circuit alarm system. I can’t lift it, and I’m not letting you get within five miles of the base. It’s too dangerous.”

“Don’t worry about me-”

“Michael.” Alex finally stood, and crossed the distance between them to attempt to calm the manic energy. ”They’ve had the pod since the crash, okay? You’re going to have to let them keep it.”

“That’s easy for you to say! Those pods are part of me, part of my people! And you want me to sit back and let them have it? Let them fuck with it? You got access to it clearly, can’t you smuggle me in? Or Kyle? I can wear one of your uniforms-”

“Michael,” he repeated steadily, this time daring to reach out for Michael. He wrapped his fingers around Michael’s wrists, circling them tightly to catch his attention. The restraint had its anticipated effect as Michael grew still and silent under the firm pressure. “This is just day one of my job now. As much as I would love to do this for you, I can’t blow up my access to the project for this. I’m sorry, but I can’t. We can’t.”

There was a moment when he thought Michael would break away, he could feel Michael take a deep breath, his chest heaving in effort before he tipped forward into Alex’s body, a mirror of Alex’s earlier collapse. He caught Micheal’s weight easily, and held him securely.

“I really want to scream right now, just so you know,” Michael warned with a low voice in Alex’s ear. “I don’t want to be mad at you, but I’m fuckin’ mad.”

“You can be mad at me,” Alex offered weakly, keeping his arms around Michael.

“I really can’t, Alex,” Michael huffed a humorless laugh, “you tried to pick a fight five minutes ago about Maria, and I saw your face when you got here, you were totally white. You didn’t expect this reveal to go well, did you?”

Alex hummed a little in his throat, acknowledging Michael’s point without argument. He thought about the file that had his father’s request for testing when he was a child and locked down his feelings on it to deal with later. “It’s not all terrible news to report though. If the pod responds to intent, then we should have Liz and I guess Kyle, meet us at the cave so we can see what it might be doing to Max in the meantime. See if there’s any readings we can gather.”

Michael moved his warm hands up to cup Alex’s face, the fabric wrap on his left hand rasping lightly as he gently moved Alex back to meet his eyes. “I’m sure Liz was thinkin’ about saving Max, but he’s not the only one in a pod. What were you thinkin’ when you put your dad in there?”

“Honestly?”

“Uh yeah, of course.”

Alex smiled grimly, “I was thinking how good it felt to choke him out and finally win a fight. I was thinking he got to see my face as darkness took him, the way I used to see his face when I was a kid. And I hoped he was scared. I hoped he felt small and powerless.”

“God, I hope so too. I hope the pod is making him relive that non-stop,” Michael breathed fiercely as he tightened his hold on Alex for a moment, then he leaned in to capture his lips in a deep, hungry kiss. Alex opened under his mouth easily, surrendering to Michael as he backed him against the parked Bronco. He pushed his fingers into Alex’s short hair, pressing against Alex’s body as Alex’s tongue stroked firmly against his. 

The warning burn in Alex’s lungs was the only thing that brought the kiss to an end, as he sucked in a gulp of air, the taste of Michael and a hint of beer still on his lips. “As much as I want to continue that, um, you should finish up here so we can make a plan with Liz and Kyle.”

“You’re lucky my trailer is at the cabin, otherwise you and me and a horizontal surface-”

Alex rolled his eyes fondly as Michael reluctantly backed away to finish his work. 

* * * 

“All right, explain it to me one more time, the Air Force has a pod, and they’ve experimented on humans with it?” Kyle walked around the pod holding Max Evans curiously, careful to keep his gloved hands off the exterior of the pod after Alex had explained the danger of thoughts on the function of the pod. 

“Flint says once they cracked the medium of opening it, which he said was a silver fullerene molecule, they placed a prisoner in it.” Alex replied, patiently, and then cast a worried glance over to Michael, who was helping unload diagnostic equipment with Isobel from the back of Liz’s 4Runner. Kyle, with Isobel’s mental nudging, had found a portable x-ray machine to borrow, along with an ultrasound machine to attempt to monitor the inside of the pod for changes. “Their xenophobic fear triggered the pod to act on the prisoner. The way Flint described it, someone was thinking that they wished the prisoner would shrivel up and die, and um, that’s what happened.”

“Yeah, what a welcome party. Guess it’s not just human refugees who get the shaft,” Michael commented, after lowering the x-ray cart with his telekinesis. He pulled out his flask, and drank deeply. Alex’s hand falling on his shoulder triggered a slight flinch, before he reached up with his wrapped left hand to cover Alex’s hand in supportive acknowledgment.

“Barbaric,” Kyle breathed, before his eyes darted from Alex’s hand to Michael’s face and back quickly. Wisely choosing not to comment, he requested, ”Tell me again about the human trials. I’m trying to wrap my mind around how what you’re describing is possible.”

“Cracking space travel you can accept, but a pod that acts on thoughts is what’s bothering you?” Liz asked, from where she was standing next to Isobel.

“I don’t understand enough about space travel to realize how impossible that is, but I understand human bodies. The samples you managed from the pod interior- nothing in there looks like it could jump start a genetic alteration-”

“Flint said depending on the genetic trait you’re trying to eliminate, it triggers other, more wholesale ones. He said a subject who had a personality defect corrected came out with a different eye color and a new dominant hand,” Alex explained. He wondered if his dad had succeeded in putting him in there as a teenager, would he have come out with no musical ability and blue eyes?

A renewed horror threatened his hold on his emotional control as he pushed down that damning report in his mind. 

“We’ve used these pods twice, and didn’t figure this out, but the military did?” Isobel asked, skeptically.

“They had over 70 years to work on the problem, Iz, but from what Alex says, in retrospect it makes sense that’s how Noah got out with the serum in his veins. I was kinda thinkin’ real loudly about how badly I wanted to shake the truth out of him.” Michael responded, and then squeezed Alex’s hand again before stepping away to inch closer to Max’s pod. “When we put you, Iz, in the pod, what were you thinkin’, Liz? I know I was prayin’ that Iz didn’t lose any memories while she was in there. The idea of her coming out like we did when we were kids terrified me.”

Alex glanced down, feeling ashamed that he had pushed away Michael during that time. The naked pain and fear about his sister was still evident today, even in the face of seeing Isobel healed and healthy. If only he had been able to push aside his vendetta against his father sooner, and open his eyes to what was really important in the long run. Out of habit, his eyes went to the covered pod where his father was.

At least Alex could comfort himself today that he hadn’t been too late with Michael. 

Liz pursed her lips, thinking about Michael’s question before brightening with an excited smile, “Time, I was thinking I needed more time to save her and develop the antidote. I was thinking I needed the pod to keep her in a perfect stasis so I could come up with something and not be responsible for murdering her.” 

“See, all those late nights we pulled could have been avoided if only you thought about curing her,” Kyle joked.

“No one is sadder than me that we didn’t figure this out then, Valenti. Do you know how much blood I donated to that cause?”

“Are you ever going to stop bitching about that, Guerin? I gave you a cookie and orange juice.”

“Guys!” Liz clapped her hands, breaking up the sniping between Kyle and Michael. “Let’s focus on the problem at hand, which is what the pod is doing to Max right now.” They both looked slightly sheepish at the reprimand. 

Alex spoke up then, voicing his guess from that day, “It was you and Rosa that put him in the pod, right? Michael and Isobel were at the sheriff’s office. And Kyle, you were dealing with my dad then...”

“Right,” Kyle agreed, glancing over to Isobel who was watching the discussion stone-faced, “Liz called me from the cave, I made it here from the bunker to confirm his vitals. I would have graded him an 8 or 9 on the Glasgow scale based on his presenting state. Pupils unresponsive, no response to verbal cues, and his muscles exhibited normal flexion. It was all of the symptoms of massive stroke. Liz and Rosa put him in the pod, while I went back to get Isobel. I don’t think I touched the pod with my thoughts, but I would have been thinking about the miracle of resurrection if I had. Because Rosa being back, what the fuck.”

“When I put Max in, I was thinking about saving him, wanting him back and alive so badly I was willing to do almost anything,” Liz took a deep breath as her voice broke. “I just didn’t want him to leave me. His heart was beating again, but it had been too long. He was- “

Michael moved, putting his arm around Liz in support. “Yeah, I’m sure you were just thinkin’ about saving him. What about Rosa? And where is Rosa, by the way?”

Wiping a stray tear from his face, Liz huffed out a choked laugh leaning into Michael’s arm, “She went with Maria to shop for clothes and then out to dinner. She’s still holding a grudge about her wardrobe disappearing after ten years. I can call her, but I was, I was the one mainly holding Max when the pod opened.”

“I don’t know if I buy this as possible,” Isobel broke in, her arms wrapped tightly around her body. Her face was still flat, dismissive of the idea of hope. “It sounds like an insane leap to make without further evidence of our own.”

“What do you want to do, test it?”

“Yes, Michael, I think we should test it before we embrace this information from the military as the answer to our prayers. I don’t trust anything that comes from that source, especially not something that sounds too good to be true. Life doesn’t work like that,” Isobel tossed her ponytail as she pointed in agitation, “my pod is sitting empty here, so you’re telling me if I put Alex in there, and told the pod to give him two legs again, it would?” 

Silence spanned the cavern of the mine, as Alex swallowed hard at the gauche question.

“IZ!”

“Jesus, Isobel.”

Feeling distant as he stood surrounded by the chatter of outrage, Alex forced the queasy sickness down, and cleared his throat for their attention, “In theory, I suppose it would, and ah, since my existing amputation is not related to my genetic code, I would probably come out fine. I don’t suggest using my well-publicized injury as a test though, unless you enjoy exposure and renewed scrutiny from the Project.” To her credit, Isobel looked down in shame when he lifted his eyebrow at her pointedly. “You all know, now what I know. I think it’s just a matter of time before Max exits that pod on his own, healed based on the intention Liz had when she placed him in it and we just have to wait.”

Alex turned, brushing his fingers against Michael’s shoulder, and nodded toward the exit. “I’m going to go get some air, while you guys wrap up and take those readings of the pod.”

Loudly in the awkward tension that was now present, Kyle stepped between Isobel and Alex and crouched down to open his black bag, “Well, I brought what I could to see if there’s any change that can be detected from the outside. Obviously a MRI would be the best diagnostic test, but that’s if we could get the pod into a MRI machine and if it was penetrable to imaging in the first place-”

The echo of Kyle’s words followed Alex outside as he stepped into the clean, cool January air. It had been mild enough in the last week to melt away the Christmas snow, leaving the surrounding hills brown with the stubborn shoots of green sagebrush spotting the landscape. He filled his lungs deeply, concentrating on feeling the tips of his fingertips down to the toenail on his left foot to ground himself in the present. 

The sensation from his right foot remained a vague memory, cut off by the gravity of his prosthetic cup surrounding his truncated calf. The pod could change that, if he wasn’t terrified of it picking up other thoughts he had about himself. 

His father had wanted to remake him, and God knows, there were days when Alex thought hard about wanting that too. To shed the fucked up patterns his brain had, to heal inside and out the wounds that life had handed him without warning and be like anyone else. Achieving acceptance with his new normal was an everyday choice and battle.

Some days he just didn’t want to fight so hard.

“I’m sorry.”

Alex startled at the voice from behind him, his reflexes catching the loss of balance instantly. He turned, hoping he hid the momentary loss of composure to face a shamed-faced Isobel.

“What I said was ableist and cruel, and I’m sorry,” Isobel continued lifting her chin proudly. 

“Apology accepted, but it wasn’t necessary.” 

Isobel looked down, and Alex followed her eyes to his right foot, concealed in his black laced boots, just below the careful cuff of his camo pants. “It really is fine, Isobel. I’ll tell Michael you apologized-”

“Thank you, no, I need to do this. You’ve done a lot for me and especially Michael, and I’ve been nothing but a bitch to you,” Isobel took a deep breath in and exhaled, “and some of that is because I’ve never been more miserable in my life, and at the same time, Michael just glows with happiness right now because of you. Honestly, I should be putting myself in that pod, because if anyone is broken right now, it’s me.”

Alex blinked once, feeling the warmth that came with hearing that Michael was happy, before he focused on the last words. “You’re not broken.”

Her smile was lopsided and sarcastic. “You’re sweet but you’re wrong. My ex- I’m going to be unpacking what he did to me for the rest of my life, and probably never get to the bottom of it. The idea of getting in that pod, and having it fix me? It’s tempting, I’m not going to lie.”

“If your intent is to erase the psychological trauma that Noah inflicted, the pod isn’t able to be subtle like that. It rewrites your cells; you wouldn’t be _you_ afterward. Our experiences, even if they suck, especially if they suck, make us who we are and remind us how to be compassionate with ourselves and others.”

She weighed his words thoughtfully, before gesturing behind them to the mouth of the mine entrance. “So you weren’t tempted when you found out the full capabilities of the pods?”

“I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t,” Alex shrugged, reaching down to rub at his right thigh as the day’s activities started to make their presence known in his body. “My injury, it happened, and it sucked. I’m still working through my new normal, but it brought me back here. It woke me up to the realization I was spending too much time thinking about what others wanted of me, and not enough time thinking about what I wanted. Even then, it took me a few times to get it right with your brother, as you’re aware. I wouldn’t be here in Roswell if it hadn’t happened. My next duty station was going to be back to Afghanistan.”

“So you’re saying everything happens for a reason?” Isobel asked, for once not sarcastically but genuinely.

“I’m saying being with Michael makes every day better and I’m hesitant to do anything that might jeopardize it,” he replied before ducking his head in embarrassment feeling his face light up with a blush from his uncharacteristic honesty. 

“God, you two are gross and I guess perfect for one another,” Isobel shook her head fondly. “His mind since you came back to him is, I think you described it once as dueling symphonies with mathematical proofs? Well, now it’s like being at a carnival, full of light, and distant laughter, and he’s trying to solve the universal constant for happiness and keeps coming up with your name.”

“Iz, are you tellin’ Alex all my secrets?” Michael emerged from the mine with a playfully petulant glare, catching the tail end of the conversation. 

Alex turned, unable to stop from smiling at Michael as he heard Isobel answer in the background, “Come on Michael, we made a rule a while ago, no secrets with family. That means, Alex, right?”

“Right,” Michael looked back and forth between them, trying to read any tension and brightened at what he found. He dropped his hat back on his head with a graceful flourish. “So, from what Kyle could tell, it looks like there were a few changes from the pod based on Isobel’s empty one. Temperature for sure changed, plus there were blurs that look like a continuous biochemical reaction on the x-rays.”

“So wait and see is the new plan?”

“Yeah, Iz, wait and see, but I think Max is going to be okay. Just gotta hope whatever cells that are healed don’t result in too much of a personality change. At least if they do- they make Max a little less of a hard core romantic.” Michael glanced again at Isobel before offering his hand to Alex boldly, “I think we’re done here though, and I don’t know about you, but I’m well past ready to go home.”

Alex took his hand. “Then let’s go home.”

*** 

_The wind was blowing hard through the open windows of the Humvee, but even the rush of the air past Alex’s ears did little to drown out the off-key singing of Ramirez, “I see a bad moon a-rising - I see trouble on the way!”_

_“Goddamnit you’re butchering the song of my people, Rammy!” Sgt. Josh Mearcad yelled as he drove. Mearcad was from Arkansas, and John Fogerty was from California, but Alex had learned a long time ago not to question what Mearcad, pronounced Mer-Cade, deemed from the South and therefore sacrosanct and what was a part of the godless left coast._

_“Sing with me, hermano-” Ramirez prompted, before launching into, “I see earthquakes and lightnin' I see bad times today-”_

_Alex took a deep breath, effortlessly harmonizing from the back, sharing a grin with his best friend, 1st Lt Thomas Powell, “Don't go 'round tonight-”_

_Tommy rolled his eyes and picked up, “It's bound to take your life-”_

_The rousing chorus from all of them, “There's a bad moon on the rise!” Then. White. Dark. Red. Air rushed past Alex’s ears as gravity ceased to exist for a moment as the Humvee lifted, and rolled and rolled. The blast rang out, registering long seconds after it was triggered._

_The weight on his right leg should be concerning, but it wasn’t. It felt far away. Alex was in an ocean, warm and wet, the rush of sound like crashing waves. Tommy’s sightless eyes were pointed at him. His foot, oh, fuck._

_Weakly from the front of the Humvee, he heard Ramirez mumble through ragged breaths, “It’s bound to take your life…bad moon a’risin’.”_

_His foot. Gone. Alex licked the blood off his lips, tipping his head back against the seat, feeling so incredibly tired. Michael. He needed to move. He needed to move for Michael. In a second he would feel the pain, he needed the tourniquet in place before that happened. This was shock. This was temporary. The pain was coming for him._

_Alex reached, finding the belt from Tommy, and snaked it with shaking fingers around his right calve. Pulling it tight sent a wave of agony so great, Alex nearly passed out. Only the acrid scent of fuel and the ticking of the cooling engine kept him moving, kept him kicking with his left foot to wedge the door open. He needed to move, for Michael. The Humvee door kept swinging shut- which wasn’t right. He broke free last time. He lived. He kicked at the door again, but-_

Alex sat upright in bed gasping loudly, his hands coming up to his chest. His skin was wet with sweat, and his pulse thundered under his thumb. He kept his hand on his chest, feeling the rise and fall of his ribcage.

There was a rustle of the sheets as Michael turned over in the dark, “Alex? You okay, love?”

He closed his eyes, grateful to hear Michael’s voice, and even more so that Michael made no move to touch him in the dark. Once he had laid out early on what he needed after a flashback or nightmare, Michael had never failed to respect those boundaries. “Yeah, I’m okay.”

Slowly he laid back down against his pillow, and then reached for Michael, who met his touch eagerly. The fierce grip anchored Alex in the present, and he rolled over to press against Michael’s warm body, nosing his face into the comforting hollow of Michael’s throat. 

Alex both felt and heard the rumble of Michael’s soft question, “Your dad again?”

He shook his head in negation, before replying softly, “Iraq. My accident.” As soon as Alex acknowledged the source of his nightmare, a fierce stabbing pain swept up from his right foot. It caught him by surprise, a choked groan escaped as he pulled away from Michael to bring his right leg up to hold in reaction. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Goddamnit.”

Michael sat up in alarm, reaching to where Alex was curled around his right leg. “Oh shit, your leg?”

“Yeah,” Alex grunted, pressing his fingers hard to grip his stump. His right foot was on fire, arrested between pins and needles and the worst charley horse cramp from the ball of his foot, that was no longer there. 

“Need your pills?” 

Panting through the pain, Alex glanced at the clock, past three am. If he took a pill now, he’d never make it to the base on time and he had a meeting with his brother and other project leads regarding the focus of leadership goals. “Can’t. Work tomorrow.” He dug his fingers in harder, as if he could scrape the pain free from his nerves by sheer force. “It’s not real, the pain...stupid brain.”

Hovering next to him, he heard Michael move in the sheets to close the distance between them. “Can I touch you?”

“Yeah, ‘course.” Alex closed his eyes as grateful tears started to push at his lids to escape. “Always want that.”

The warmth of Michael scooted up against his back as his arms snaked around Alex’s chest. He pressed his lips against Alex’s neck and offered softly in his ear, “Listen, if this is…. If this is something in your head, I can help with that. If you want.”

Anticipation and pleasure lit up briefly through the agony as Alex followed the train of thought to Michael’s offer and remembered Christmas Eve. It was beyond tempting but being back on active duty made that an impossibility. With regret, he shook his head, “No bond print, too risky.”

“Nah, not that, but I could go inside your mind, and um, persuade you that what you’re feeling isn’t real.” 

“Oh,” Alex breathed. Michael inside his head, seeing his thoughts, seeing just how messed up Alex was, not that he couldn’t already guess it from the outside. The cramping seemed to intensify as he debated, from what felt like a stabbing feeling from the ball of his foot, to a deep burn into the arch of his instep, traveling up his right leg. “Yeah, okay, do it.”

Michael licked his lips at the acceptance and took a deep breath. He shifted in bed again until Alex faced him. He brought his palm up, to cup Alex’s cheek gently, meeting his eyes. Alex blinked heavily at the touch, tears from the pain slipping down his face as Michael brushed the wetness away with his thumb with love.

Then. 

Then it was warm and bright. Michael was the joy of a perfectly played note, the pitch and harmony of Alex’s favorite song, slipping into his mind to curl around him. The percussion of matched heart beats, thundering in time together. The vibration of strings, dancing across two keys, one high and soprano, one low and deep. 

That was Michael in Alex’s mind.

Alex though, Alex was a crumpled ball of paper. The painstaking drawing, scratched out in eraser marks and errant ink blots. The brush strokes of a self-portrait imperfectly translated from three dimensions to a flat disappointing two. Discarded and tightly balled up, waiting to be tossed into the trash. 

Then. 

Teasing at the edges, Michael picked at and pulled at the scrapped drawing, the furrowed shell of Alex. With infinite care, he worked to flatten out the wrinkles and to smooth the creases. This wasn’t a failed attempt; this was a work of art, worthy of being framed. He laid out love, ironing out the perceived imperfections, until the crushed bits, and worn notches were treasured marks of strength and experience. These weren’t deficiencies to reject, or blemishes to trash but well tested symbols of armor worthy of protection.

Then. 

Alex blinked again, and swallowed down the sob pressing at the edges of his throat waiting to erupt as the pain was gone. Inside his head, every small scrape and cut was calm and soothed. Michael had wrung the tension from his mind and body, leaving him loose and shapeless.

“Better?” Michael asked, his hand still on Alex’s face. 

“Yeah, much.” Alex licked his lower lip, his mouth dry. “Is that, is that really how you see me?”

An enraptured look slipped over Michael’s face as his eyes grew dark, “You are a work of art, Alex. You’re beautifully made, inside and out. I wish you could see yourself the way I do.” 

Blushing, he had to look away, unable to meet the intensity in Michael’s gaze. “I think you’re crazy.”

“You’re the crazy one for not seeing it, but I know why you can’t believe me.” Michael’s expression saddened as he turned to catch Alex’s eyes, “He is wrong about you. He was wrong when you were a kid, and he’s wrong now.”

“Ah, you saw it. What my dad wanted to do.” Alex pressed his lips together tightly, and sighed. 

“Yeah, I saw it.” Tension grew in Michael’s grip, as he moved his hand down Alex’s shoulder to his chest, pressing his hand against the rising beat of Alex’s heart. “He is a monster, and it’s his loss that he could find anything in you that was deserving of hate, but sweetheart,” Michael’s voice broke briefly, “it breaks my heart that you might agree with him on any level. Your body, the way you love, how you love, it’s all part of what makes you, you.” He paused, before finishing with a thick voice, “And I love you. You should love you too.”

“I’m trying, Michael,” Alex leaned in to kiss his lips gently, “I’m trying really hard to do that.” He let Michael deepen the kiss, sighing at the care Michael used in touching him, like he was that precious work of art he’d glimpsed in Michael’s thoughts. 

“Don’t be ashamed of this,” Michael whispered, his mouth hovering over Alex’s. 

Alex shook his head, and leaned up to trade another kiss, “I’m not, not anymore. Well, not most days. I’m working on it.”

Michael smiled in response at Alex’s honesty, “Good, anytime you need a reminder, let me know. We can fight those demons together, sweetheart. Speaking of, how’s the pain?”

Stretching his right leg out, he rubbed his stump against Michael’s leg, and sighed in relief at the motion. “Gone.” He leaned over to glance at the clock, and turned back to him with a wicked smile,”I’ve got just enough time to thank you properly and still get a couple hours of sleep before the alarm goes off.”

“Not going to argue with that plan.” Michael grabbed Alex’s hand placing it firmly on his hard cock, triggering a shocked giggle from Alex’s lips at the boldness. “So let’s not waste any time.”

***

The heavy wool coat fit tighter in his hips than Alex was expecting, the unforgiving lines of the formal uniform exposing just what the soft comfort of having a home and someone to share meals with had done to his waistline. The last three weeks had passed easily in a way that was foreign to him after years of marking time in five minute increments of safety and peace.

The vigilance over Michael’s safety had relaxed now that Alex had stepped into his role at the base and could oversee the information chain back to General Leighton and presumably the Pentagon. Besides his daily oversight regarding the study of crash relics, he had his own set of data mining scripts running in the background to alert him of any biological testing of the Red River project. 

The Red River base with General Leighton, housed Flint’s designed biological weapon and so far was out of Alex’s direct reach. The tests at Roswell against the pod permeability were worrying enough, though so far had been unsuccessful. 

Time had passed under the twin weight of Max’s anticipated emergence from the pod and the release of the final cause of death report on Noah. The mysterious Dr. Holden had performed her autopsy before forwarding the body to Red River and according to Sheriff Valenti, a John Doe was going to be released for burial to Isobel. The entire situation unsettled Alex, but surprisingly Michael had taken news that the military planned on retaining Noah’s body calmly. _“Like you said, they’ve had access to the bodies of my people for years, just need to make sure they don’t get their hands on a live test subject.”_

Alex, in the meantime, had written a computer virus for the labeling program. It subtly jumbled bar codes, marking the alien control samples for disposal and variable samples as controls for storage. He was waiting for the invitation to the Red River installation to introduce it, after successfully watching the Roswell research grind to a halt as scientists incinerated their work unknowingly. 

As he waited for his opportunity, Alex had marked the time with Michael in a dream-like daze with twice weekly public dinner dates at the Crashdown. Each meal with a shared milkshake that had been overseen by a jubilant Arturo who always had an updated story about Rosa to share. The date nights had always finished with a drink at the Wild Pony, where Alex and Maria were working on their comfort in seeing one another in the aftermath of Michael’s decision from Christmas. 

It still wasn’t perfect when he occasionally caught Maria staring sadly at her necklace or tracing out the pattern of a rose but it was getting there.

“Come on, Alex, you are pretty enough. I’m ready to get this show on the road.” 

Alex looked into the mirror one last time to settle the ribbons and attempted to loosen the snug hold of the fabric before turning to face Michael, who was leaning with a well-practiced attempt at casual ease in his dark gray suit.

The suit had sparked a thankfully rare screaming fight between them that had finally been solved by his new secret alliance with Isobel over Michael’s wardrobe. First though, Michael had declined to attend the promotional ceremony, then he had offered to rent a suit, until finally he had bowed to buying a suit under the argument that this ceremony would be the first in the long line of many public events that the second-in-command at the Roswell base would need to attend with his partner in tow. Beyond the other promotional ceremonies, there were welcome-in mixers for personnel newly rotated in, and the community outreach parties that Isobel arranged.

If Michael needed a suit, then Michael would buy it himself, a stubborn pronouncement that had led to Alex reaching out to Isobel for backup. 

“Wow,” Alex murmured, focusing his hungry gaze on how well the color and fit of the suit hugged Michael’s frame. A pleased hint of a blush rose on Michael’s face as he took in how open Alex was in his admiration. “I might need to carry my service weapon tonight.”

“You always carry your gun.”

“Well, openly carry it and warn people off of you,” Alex amended, stepping close to Michael. The spicy hint of curl cream filled his nose as he slid his arms around Michael’s waist to pull him close. 

“Open carry, huh?” Michael teased before dropping his hand to cup Alex through his wool trousers knowingly. “It’s been my experience you always do that too. Hmmm, oh yeah, got my favorite service weapon right here.”

Alex laughed breathlessly at the corny line, pressing into Michael’s hand before pulling away. “Okay, don’t start that now. I am not wasting my efforts in getting you to come tonight-” He stopped, rolling his eyes at Michael’s snicker. “Damnit, you know what I mean.”

“I do. You won this battle, Private, but I’m gonna wear you down about the cable bill.” 

Alex’s war of logic had been only partially successful with Michael. The persuasive argument that it would look odd if his boyfriend missed his promotional ceremony had stalled after he had tried to link the idea that if Michael’s presence was commanded by Alex’s job, then it was reasonable that Alex pay for the tailored suits required. 

It had not been reasonable to Michael and the cost of the new clothes had uncovered a new sore subject between them, joint finances.

In the early days, Alex had just paid the bills without considering Michael’s share of the resources. It was supposed to have been just a temporary sharing of accommodations based on the alibi, but as one month had passed and things had slipped from the performative into the real, Michael had balked at not contributing. Alex had pointed out that between the solar panels on the roof and the well, his utility bills were scarce, and the internet data service was part of Alex’s job requirements, but as a compromise Michael was welcome to pay into the food budget.

Wryly Michael had pointed out that Alex needed to return to school and relearn the definition of a compromise, and he would be buying his own damn monkey suits if they were so important to Alex. Isobel had saved the day by allowing Alex to secretly pay for half of the shopping trip she had dragged her petulant brother on, so the only bill Michael had seen had been something in line with his thrift shop budgeting. 

Every cent Alex had paid was well worth it to see the sharply cut and tailored fabric on Michael’s well-built frame. He was slightly jealous that the routine meals and stable home life didn’t have the same effect on his waist. It had to be chalked up to alien metabolism. 

“Please don’t call me ‘Private’ in front of my commanding officer,” Alex pleaded, picking up his keys from the bedside table.

“What should I call you? Honey bear? My beloved?” Michael smirked, eyeing the still open tie on Alex’s neck. Alex’s long-standing issues around his neck meant that he left it loose until the last minute. “The light of my life? Or should I just leave it at ‘sir’?”

“I like some of those, and we can explore ‘sir’ later if you want.”

“Hmm. The way you look in that uniform, count on it.” Michael placed his hand on Alex’s back, before letting his hand drift down to squeeze his ass playfully. “I’m feeling very patriotic. Ready to salute you.”

Alex swatted at him, laughing. “First of all, I can’t believe I’m attracted to you, that was awful. And secondly, I’m serious, don’t get me worked up.”

Michael raised his hands in innocence, “I’ll behave, but you gonna explain that clench you were sporting in your jaw? That was a serious scowl you had in the mirror. You worried about something other than being honored tonight?” 

As always, Michael’s ability to read him was reassuring but also annoying. He rightly saw the tension in Alex’s shoulders that wasn’t just about the upcoming ceremony. 

“My brother will be there tonight. Flint. There’s going to be a lot of talk about how proud Dad would be and how terrible it is that he couldn’t be there. I am going to have to play nice with him because I’m angling to get an invite to Red River. Plus I’m annoyed about this dress uniform. I didn’t think it would be so tight.” Alex shut off the lights, and picked up his spare crutch to take with him. A long night of sharing bland conversational rejoinders to stuffy members of the upper chain of command after a day of being on his prosthesis meant he would probably have to show weakness with the crutch at some point. 

Experienced with how fraught the discussions about Alex’s family tended to go, Michael steered the conversation toward Alex’s last remarks. “Too many milkshakes at the Crashdown. Who knew you could pay for fake documents in dairy products?” 

He shot Michael a warm smile of reassurance, before picking up the conversational change, “He’s grateful to you and Isobel for Rosa, not me. I’m not an alien.”

Michael rolled his eyes, uncomfortable as always with praise. “You are the one who pushed through his citizenship papers and put Rosa back on the grid with an identity. I didn’t do shit, it was all Max.”

“Maybe, but you’re the one who allowed him to know Rosa was alive. You broke a lifetime of secrecy to share that with him. Trust me, Arturo knows what a risk that was.” 

“Whatever. So how long is this shindig going to last?” he asked, waiting patiently as Alex set the security system and tested the link to his phone. “You know I get bored easily, so I just wondered how long I needed to behave. Plus I see you grabbed your crutch.”

Alex pressed a few buttons and smiled in satisfaction at the green lights, before unlocking his Explorer. “A few hours, but trust me, I’ll be ready to leave after the first speech. I’m hoping I won’t need it, because I might be too tempted to use it to shut up some seagull Colonel-”

“You think you’ll be tempted? I’m the one with TK, do you know how much restraint it takes to keep from knocking over a full glass when some asshole starts spouting off?”

He tightened his grip on the steering wheel, not sparing Michael a glance. “In the interests of not giving me heart failure, I know you’re not thinking about exercising any alien ability while we’re surrounded by people who not only know about aliens, but are actively working against you?”

In the dark interior of the SUV, Michael let out a soft exhalation, “Okay I was trying to make you laugh, not freak you out more. I’ll be on my best behavior. Not gonna to do anything to embarrass you.” 

This time, there was a strange tone in Michael’s voice. Alex turned his attention from the road to send him a reassuring smile, “I’m worried about a lot of things, but I’m not worried about that, Michael.”

True to Michael’s promise, he was on his best behavior once they arrived on base. He handed over his ID to the MP at the gate with a polite smile, announcing he was the plus one for the guest of honor with a smooth respectful voice.

The main hangar at the Roswell Base was lit up with lights on a large American Flag and a banner welcoming members of the Air Force in honoring the recent promotions in grade for various Airmen. Stenciled in bold black script was Maj. Alexander Manes headlining the list of honors. 

Twin F-15 Eagle fighter jets sat on the runway outside the open hanger, draped in red, white and blue banners as music spilled into the night air. Alex followed the beacons and lights to the event parking and rolled his eyes at the various out-of-town license plates. It looked like General Leighton had really gone all out in rounding up a crowd for the party.

Michael stood in front of him outside their car, and nudged Alex’s hands away when he started to tie his tie. Patiently Michael fastened his collar, smoothing his hands along Alex’s shoulders before drawing his hands up to begin tying his necktie smartly. “Deep breath, and relax.” 

Alex covered Michael’s hands, rubbing his fingers over the silk gloves that he wore to hide his healed hand in the public view and tipped his forehead to press against Michael’s. Nerves were warring inside him at the big production that awaited ahead as he desperately tried to absorb confidence from Michael’s presence. “I changed my mind, let’s go home.”

“Your name is on that banner, pretty sure you can’t change your mind.”

“Damnit,” Alex muttered, before stealing a kiss from Michael as Michael laughed against his mouth.

Once inside, Michael stayed close to Alex as various members of the base staff came up to congratulate Alex on his promotion and new duties. There was a mix of talk about the family legacy in Roswell, meaning the person was aware of aliens, and a mix of superficial congratulations about heading up the cyber security operations, the cover for Alex’s role. Out of caution, Michael kept a glass of seltzer in his hand while Alex took single small sips from a champagne flute.

As predicted, his brother Flint was present in his black formal Army uniform, wearing the markers of special forces proudly. He kept his eyes on Alex from across the hangar, lifting his own drink in acknowledgment, but coming no closer. Every time Alex looked up, he found his brother’s dark stare focused on Michael. 

Alex hoped the scrutiny was about the gender of his date and not anything more concerning.

He pushed aside his worry about Flint and tuned back into Michael’s discussion with a visiting Colonel, as he gestured with his drink, “- Erdoğan’s party is facing local elections soon, so my guess is that jailin’ journalists won’t play well in the polls. That thin line he wants to walk between being a worthy NATO ally but also as a force for a return to traditional Islamic governance is impossible. The real threat he should be worried about is the unchecked Russian aggression on his southern border with Syria.”

The Colonel turned toward Alex with an impressed look on his face as he nodded to Michael, “You’re absolutely right. Did you and Major Manes meet through the service?”

“Nah, Alex and I met here in Roswell. We’re high school sweethearts, actually.”

Alex almost choked on his tiny sip of his drink at that description. It was a rather romantic view of the truth as a blush warmed Alex’s face. 

“Still your knowledge of Turkish politics is impressive,” the Colonel enthused.

“I like reading, and wherever Alex ended up, I made a point of learning the local culture and political scene. Some things just stuck,” Michael shrugged, brushing off the praise. He tilted his head, a curl dropping into his eye line as he looked at Alex, “You were in Turkey in 2017 for what, four months?”

“Three, but it definitely felt like four. Top five in dull outposts for duty, but top three in nightlife. Not that I know that by experience,” Alex agreed, covering his surprise at Michael’s knowledge smoothly with a playful wink before turning to the Colonel, “my next station was Iraq, and I admit, I rather wish that one had been boring.”

The Colonel dropped his gaze down to Alex’s leg and then up swiftly, revealing he was aware of Alex’s injury. A painfully polite smile moved into place, as he made some courteous noises of support for Alex’s new grade and then wandered toward another member of the party with an ‘excuse me’.

Alex shook his head, still never surprised at the reaction his leg garnered from senior leadership. He felt Michael draw close, brushing against Alex’s shoulder in support. 

“I can’t believe you get that ‘thank you for your service’ crap from people on your own side,” Michael snorted in disgust, before looking over Alex’s shoulder and paused at what he saw. “Any particular reason why your brother is staring at me? He knows he’s not my type, right?”

Smoothly Alex stepped to block Michael from Flint’s eye line. “He’s just not happy that my date is hotter than his.”

“His date still has braces I think,” Michael sipped at his drink, his eyes moving restlessly through the crowd before focusing back on Alex. “So the speeches are done, you’ve got your pretty new hardware, what’s left?”

He glanced at his watch, and then at the crowd that showed no signs of thinning at the open bar, and the fresh plates of food being set out. Alex winced, at both the ache in his leg and at the signs the night still had a few more hours of socializing ahead of them. “More ass kissing, I think. I’m stuck here until someone senior to me departs.”

Michael nodded thoughtfully, and then handed Alex his drink, “Okay, if that’s the rule, then I’ll be right back.”

Before Alex could protest, Michael cut into the crowd smoothly, threading through the sea of uniforms and evening gowns before disappearing. He had a moment of panic about what Michael might be up to before Agent Ross stepped into his line of sight and started his way. Various members of the Project, both in uniform and out, had been visible all night, including Agent Ross, but this was the first acknowledgement Alex had observed. The bold approach after Michael had left his side was too coincidental to dismiss.

“Major Manes, what a lovely night,” Agent Ross greeted, a glass of scotch in one hand.

“Agent Ross, glad you could make it.”

“Of course. Needed to wave the flag, so to speak, since Jesse couldn’t be here. How goes your search?”

Alex frowned, adopting an expression of worry and frustration, although mainly it was frustration that had the most truth at the moment. “Slow going, I’ve cleared a number of areas where Bracken might have stashed his body, but still. The search goes on.”

“I wish I could stay and help, but I’m being recalled to the main office. They’ve sent over the COD and authorized the release of the remains to the family. Still, can’t believe your dad let one of-” he lowered his voice in deference to the milling crowd around them, “ _those_ _people_ get the upper hand on him.”

“All it takes is one off-day, which I’m sure you know,” Alex replied.

“Right, I’ll be keeping an ear out for your updates and might even stop in if I find myself in the area again to lend a hand. Anyway, congratulations on your role in Roswell,” Agent Ross offered, lifting his drink in a toast before turning to the left, “looks like your boyfriend is headed back with company. I’ll let you two enjoy the rest of the evening.” His thin excuse confirming Alex’s suspicions about the timing of his visit.

Michael was heading back with another Major at his side who Alex recognized instantly and started smiling in delight. “Alex,” Michael called, mirroring Alex’s smile with smugness, “Torres here says he outranks you with time in grade and has graciously offered to leave first.”

“Mark, I didn’t know you were here. Did you sneak in or something?” Alex accepted the hug from Torres and then bit his lower lip in pain as he moved the wrong way with his prosthesis.

Mark’s dark eyes caught the wince and then exchanged a glance with Michael, who was hovering next to Alex, “I came in during the speeches and was working my way through the room to find you when your boy found me. Looks like he wasn’t kidding, you’ve got that must-grin-and-bear-it look.”

“Right? So you’ll help me out? Again?” Michael asked. “I understand my tab for favors is getting long since you bailed me out of a murder charge.”

“Nah, that was Alex’s favor, so this is a whole new transaction to rescue Major Manes here from himself,” Mark Torres joked, and then waved a hand indicating Alex. “If you can convince His Stubbornness to leave, I’m happy to provide the escape and I’ll consider us square, Guerin.”

“All right, don’t gang up on me,” Alex complained in a show, even as he felt the rush of relief for Michael’s rescue. He did not want to get his crutch out, but standing for much longer was going to be a terrible idea at best, and absolute torture at worse. It was clear he hadn’t hidden his pain well and Michael had been waiting for a chance to help. “Thank you for this, Mark.”

“Hey, this is your boy’s favor, but I look forward to catching up with you both in the future. Maybe at another party that requires our dress blues. You know where to send the wedding invite,” Mark teased, before shaking Michael’s hand while Alex blinked at him as his implication sunk in.

Michael touched his shoulder lightly, breaking into Alex’s thoughts, “I’ll bring the car around if you want to make your goodbyes.”

Afterward, as Michael drove them home to the cabin, Alex roused himself from the fatigue that had made itself present, to reach out and put his hand on Michael’s leg. “Thank you for coming tonight, and looking out for me like you did. You were amazing all night.”

“Your grease-monkey boyfriend didn’t embarrass you with the brass then?” Michael asked, shooting a teasing look at Alex even though his voice had a thread of vulnerable honesty in it.

“Never.” Alex tightened his hand on Michael, even as Michael placed one hand on the wheel while he covered Alex’s with the other.

“We’ve come a long way, haven’t we? From my criminal ways at the drive-in benefit to subject of a murder investigation to finally I’m your plus one at your promotion.” 

Alex twisted in his seat to see Michael’s face better in the dim light. A passing car lit up his profile, revealing a pensive look on Michael as he tightened his grip on Alex. “Yeah, but for however far you’ve come, Michael, you’ve helped me cover just as much ground. The things we’ve gone through separately, the challenges we’ve faced together, just made it so clear to me that I’m so happy I have you. That I didn’t have to face them alone. I mean, I love you.”

That brought Michael’s attention to him sharply, “Say that again.”

“I love you. You knew that right?” 

“Yeah, but hearing it. That’s always nice.” Michael turned his attention back to the road, as he shook his head, “You had to do this while I’m driving and I can’t kiss you. You’re the worst, you know that? The literal worst when it comes to timing your little confessions to me.”

The phone ringing cut off Alex’s playful defense of timing, as Isobel’s name lit up the in-car Bluetooth display. They both exchanged glances, before Michael pushed the ‘accept call’ button, “Hey Iz, I’m here with Alex.”

“Great, I’ve got you both. In about five minutes, your little security system is about to go nuts, Alex,” Isobel’s response boomed out of the speakers, the pitch of her voice high in the range of emotional strain.

“What, why?” Michael sputtered as he glanced at the signs on the road and started to slow down. 

“I can feel Max, he’s out of the pod. I’m on my way there now. I’ve already called Liz and Kyle. Hurry Michael, he needs us.” Isobel clicked off the line without saying goodbye.

Abruptly Michael came to stop on the road, and spun the Explorer in a rough U-turn as Alex grabbed at his seat in reaction. Alex took a deep breath in response, “She didn’t sound really happy about Max, did she?”

“I’ve got a bad feeling about this, Alex.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, another cliffhanger! We're so close to the end. I'm actively writing right now. My inbox is empty again, so as always I welcome your thoughts here- or on tumblr - lambourngb. 
> 
> I hope everyone is staying safe in these extraordinary times we are living in.
> 
> I'm doing my best on self-care, and I'm sending out those same compassionate vibes to everyone else out there who might need it. It's okay if all you do is get out of bed. That's a victory.


	22. Chapter 22

"You know, I think this proves you're wrong about me."

Michael glanced toward the passenger side of the SUV to Alex with a quick puzzled glance. "What?"

The phone call from Isobel had chased away some of the intimate mood between them, bringing back their old companion since Caulfield; the fear and uncertainty of the unknown. This time it was different between them, Alex had the confidence of having Michael by his side without pretense. With his collar unbuttoned and his tie discarded, he attempted to lighten the frown on Michael’s face as they drove toward the turquoise mines. "I would like to submit Max's name for consideration in having the worst timing."

Mustering a small smile, Michael pretended to consider the comment seriously. "Nah, emerging from the pod two hours ago while you were accepting your tree leaves by the head of the Project; now that would have been worse."

"Oak leaves," Alex corrected with an eye roll knowing that he misspoke on purpose, before reaching over for Michael's hand. "This isn't the first though, how about when he decided to have a stroke while you were surrounded by police officers at the Wild Pony? I think that trumps my timing."

"And I was covered _in my own blood_ , recently resurrected myself, when you told me you regretted breaking up with me, so nice try, Mr. Bad Timing."

A month ago, Michael's teasing comment would have sent Alex into a silent tailspin of self-doubt. There was a brief moment where his brain attempted to lead him down the dark path of re-litigating his failures in the past in technicolor detail, before he caught himself and squeezed Michael's hand. The solid ground kept the demons at bay, even if the voices would never be entirely silent. "It's Major Bad Timing then, remember, and considering you said it wasn't your blood, I refuse to count that."

"Ah, well since you thought it was _someone else's blood_ it was totally the right time to discuss our relationship, you're completely vindicated." This time the smile he flashed Alex was broader and real, before it faded into a soft wondering gratitude. "My turn now to thank you for being here, for me. I got used to doing things on my own, and now, with you, I don’t have to."

In the dark, as the SUV turned onto the rough track of the service road, Alex squeezed his hand once more before letting Michael steer with both hands. "There's nowhere else I would want to be. We face these challenges together, right?"

"Yeah, together. I get to be your arm candy for all your stuffy military functions and you get to be my copilot with my family drama." 

Alex caught sight at the haphazard parking of Isobel's Infiniti and Liz's 4Runner just outside the entrance to the mine. "Max is going to be okay. Our biggest problem is going to be keeping our clothes from getting ruined because I know you're going to want to hug him while he's covered in silver goo."

Michael parked and took a moment to look at Alex fully, before he leaned across the truck to kiss him gently, "I appreciate you exercising that rarely used optimism of yours." He kept his forehead pressed against Alex's, as his mouth twitched upward in humor. "I'm afraid this $1,000 suit is going to be trashed, sweetheart. And yes, I know about your secret alliance with Isobel."

Alex's sputtered laugh of protest was the last joyous thought he had upon entering the mine.

It was chaos inside, loud shouting of indistinct voices, echoing off the old blasted stone ceiling.

Isobel had her arms around a blanket-wrapped Max, who was clinging to her in a child-like manner that fit oddly on the body of a six-foot broad shouldered man. The source of the indistinct shouting was Max, except it wasn't his words that were garbled, but the fact it appeared he wasn't speaking English.

Standing to the side, with her hands up in a non-confrontational manner, was Liz. She was wearing her diner uniform, signs of an interrupted night at the Crashdown, while dark streaks of mascara ran down her face. "Max, please... it's me! You know me."

"A little help here, Alex!" Kyle called catching sight of Michael and Alex's arrival where they stood frozen at the mouth of the mine. He was in the corner past the collection of pods, on his knees, while he leaned over another body on the bare dirt ground.

A quick glance confirmed Alex's suspicion. The red-orange southwestern patterned blanket, that was a garish but a welcome eyesore in the cavern, was gone from the pod, scattered carelessly on the ground. The pod itself was now indistinguishable from the rest; empty. He didn't register Michael moving from his side toward Isobel or how Max instantly released Isobel to envelop Michael in a fierce hug, still speaking excited gibberish. Liz's barely smothered sob was just a background hum to him. His father was free.

Fear hit him first.

Fear always hit him first when it came to Jesse Manes. His dark gallows-humor observed that his father was never far behind though with his fists.

It might have been minutes or just seconds, but once the initial spike of adrenaline was over, his mind dropped into the too-still focus of mission-centered emotional control that he had learned sitting in a Humvee, traveling between empty-looking villages in Iraq. His paranoid feelings, discarded like the derelict cars on the streets of Fallujah, reminded him that safety was a construct and the life-altering explosions were lurking just out of view.

Boom, Alex thought bleakly, as he closed the distance to Kyle’s side where he was palpating the sides of his father’s throat. The most obvious question spilled from his lips, “What the hell happened?”

Kyle didn’t spare him a glance as he dug out a pen light from a red and white first aid bag. Jesse was laying on the ground in front of him, his eyes open but focused on nothing as he gasped audibly for air. He clicked the light on, and attempted to peer down Jesse’s throat, “We’re not sure. We think when Max woke up from the pod, he tried to recreate that day when he was seven. Hard to say if it was a psychological regression or if he was stripped of everything but instinct. He pulled Jesse out of the pod, without realizing it wasn’t his sibling in there.”

The confusion shown by Max and the chatter of his alien language made it apparent that while the pod had healed the brain damage from resurrecting Rosa, it had not left him free of other side-effects. The use of language gave hope that it was a psychological block and not the wholesale rewrite of his memory.

Gingerly Alex lowered himself to the ground, bracing himself on his left leg. “So what’s wrong with my dad?” He glanced across to where Michael was rubbing his hand down Max’s back while talking softly to Liz. Each time Liz stepped closer to Max, she triggered a terrified flinch in Max. A grown man mimicked the movements of a child without guise.

“I don’t know, he’s acting like he can’t breathe, but I can’t find any sign of obstruction in his airway.” Kyle clicked off the light, and turned to address Jesse directly, “Sergeant Manes? Can you speak? Can you tell me what’s wrong?”

_“I was thinking how good it felt to choke him out and finally win a fight.”_

Jesse’s blue eyes focused on Alex, his whole body shrank back on the ground away from him. The kicked-dog retreat was intimately familiar to Alex, but never on this side of things. 

“Oh shit,” Alex looked over at the pod, and then down at his own hands in disbelief. “The pod really did pick up on my thoughts.”

“Well fucking duh, you’re the one who briefed us on it. What were you thinking when you put your dad in, I hope he chokes and dies?” Kyle snapped, his agitation at being helpless in the wake of a medical crisis clear on his face. Alex’s father continued to bring his hands up to his own throat, gesturing in panic as he gulped and gasped for air. “He’s going to pass out from hyperventilation at this rate.”

“Actually, yes,” Alex shot back. “He used to put his hands on my throat, squeeze until I couldn’t breathe so I knew at every moment that my life was in his hands. And have you ever watched someone’s face as they strangled you? I have.” He lifted his chin, staring Kyle down, “So are you going to give me a hard time because I was happy he was finally in a place where he couldn’t hurt anyone?”

The moment he placed his father in the pod, he had felt the rush of exaltation of finally having the upper hand. Victory had a bittersweet satisfaction then, he had had at least the comfort of knowing Michael was safe while his father was in stasis. Now, that moment was far away and out of reach. He knew he should be feeling something now as he watched his father clawing for precious air, but he didn’t, not even satisfaction. 

He shifted his awkward stance next to Kyle deliberately, letting the throb of his pressure on his prosthesis ground him in the present. 

Stricken by Alex’s caustic words, Kyle paused in his ministrations to meet his dark gaze, “God no, I hate him too, Alex. He belongs in a jail cell, paying for what he’s done to both of us, unfortunately right now he’s my patient.” He turned back to Jesse and frowned in concentration, “The pod picked up your memories of what he did to you and is apparently psychologically torturing him with it, because his throat isn’t actually closing on him.”

“Psychosomatic then, I wanted him to feel like I did, so the pod is carrying that out. You can treat a psychological ailment, right? Give him a shot of lorazepam or midazolam,” Alex suggested and dragged the first aid bag closer to them. His father looked small and harmless lying bare on the ground, but still Alex knew he would feel better once he was completely incapacitated. 

This time Kyle shot him a surprised look at his knowledge of sedatives but didn’t argue. His hands found a black pouch of vials, before selecting one and a capped syringe. “I’ve only got the field dose of Ativan, it should knock him out for a couple of hours, but what then?” 

“Then I use my position at the base to call in backup to handle my dad, while you go help them with Max,” Alex nodded over to where Michael and Isobel were patiently helping Max into the clothes that Isobel had apparently brought, while Liz watched silently with a frozen look of helplessness on her face. 

“All right, good plan. Hold your dad still.” Kyle prepped the dose professionally, and scooted closer to Jesse’s agitated movements with the uncapped needle. “Not going to lie, I do enjoy this part.”

Alex smirked grimly in response and reached with both hands to brace Jesse’s shoulders to the cold ground. His father shuddered in absolute terror but didn’t fight or say a word as Alex restrained him. It was truly a page from his memories of a child, where he fell instantly into acquiescence at his father’s approach hoping it would save him from further pain. He still felt like a distant observer as Kyle found a vein expertly. The drug took effect almost instantly and the gasping ceased as his father’s eyes fluttered closed.

With a sigh, Alex struggled to get to his feet as the awkward squatting plus a long night on his prosthesis left him feeling weaker than usual. Just before he was about to swallow his pride and ask Kyle for assistance, he felt the familiar hold of Michael’s power bracing against his prosthesis to ease him upright. Once he found his balance he turned to look for Michael, and found him gently prying Max’s grip off of him while meeting Alex’s eyes. It was only after Isobel stepped forward to grab Max’s attention that he relinquished his hold on Michael. 

Kyle brushed the dirt off his sweatpants and zipped up his bag before finding Liz’s shaking shoulders with a comforting hand. Liz bit her lip, holding back a cry and fell into Kyle’s arms with relief. “It’s my fault, I must have thought the wrong thing… The pod was supposed to fix him, not, take him away from me-”

“Hey, hey,” Kyle soothed, brushing a hand down Liz’s hair, “we’ll get him back. He’s alive and talking, that’s better than he was two months ago. Granted, we can’t understand him, but this is a victory, Liz. He learned English once, or hey, maybe we learn that language-”

“Antarian, that’s the language of our people according to Max. He’s broadcasting pretty loudly in my head and to Iz, but he seems to recognize that Liz and Kyle don’t have that ability. He’s basically saying ‘don’t touch’ and um, he wants to know where our parents are.” Michael replied, as he used his freedom from his brother’s clinging hold to cross the cavern to Alex. “So this is going to be a barrel of laughs.”

The matter-of-fact information about their roots was filed away as Alex followed Kyle’s example and started brushing off the dirt from his dress uniform. He didn’t spare a glance to Michael, but leaned against his warm weight at his side for strength. The night’s events were catching up to him and the suspicion was starting to set in that it might be a while before he could curl up to Michael’s strong body in bed later.

“So,” Michael continued, gesturing down at Jesse, “guess we are O for 2 with pod malfunctions. It didn’t kill him and it scrambled Max’s brain back to childhood it looks like.”

“New evidence in Max having the worst timing though,” Alex observed blankly, trying to muster up a fake smile for Michael. “He pulled my dad out of a pod. I think I’m exonerated as Mr. Bad Timing.”

“Major Bad Timing remember, and now _that_ you have a point about.” Michael placed his hand on Alex’s shoulder in concern over the faraway sound of Alex’s voice, frowning at the shuddered response from him. Instead of backing away, Michael ran his hand up to the back of Alex’s neck to rub his fingers lightly against the close-shaved hair.

Alex exhaled sharply at the touch before he distantly felt the return of sensation in his body, cutting through the fog of focused decision-making and survival based dissociation. He closed his eyes under Michael’s touch, letting the wash of Isobel’s quiet reassurance to Max and Liz’s mumbling over what the pod had done fade into the background. In his ear, Michael spoke in a hushed tone just for his hearing, “I’m holding on by a hair, how about you?”

“Same.” Alex took another moment to soak up Michael’s support before pulling his shoulders back to marshal his energy to tackle the situation before him. In the corner, stacked haphazardly next to the miscellaneous books and blankets, was his father’s uniform. “First off, we need to move my dad to the Explorer. Can you lift him with your powers so I can get that uniform back on him? Then I’ve got to make a call.”

Absorbing the no-nonsense tone from Alex, Michael straightened with purpose and nodded. “Anything for you, darlin’.”

With Kyle’s help, Alex skillfully dressed his father as he hung slack in the air. Michael let Jesse Manes drop to the ground after a nod from Alex, and then accepted the bottle of acetone tossed in his direction by Kyle. 

The group surrounding the pods was the most rag-tag set of allies Alex had ever seen. From a now-silent Max who was dressed in Chaves County Sheriff's Department sweats, to Liz clad in her waitress uniform, and then there was Michael, still wearing a superbly fitted suit that only sported a few dust smears on his knees and jacket cuffs. Only Isobel and Kyle were clad in unremarkable athleisure wear of an evening planned around television and relaxation.

“All right, so Alex and I are going to take care of Master Sergeant Jackass. I guess Iz, take Max back to his house and see if familiar surroundings help? It’s been a long ass day, we should regroup tomorrow morning. Who knows, maybe after a night's sleep he’ll be back to Deputy Evans again ready to stare disapproving at us, and by us, I mean me.” Michael instructed, exchanging a glance with Alex who nodded in agreement. After taking a deep gulp of acetone, he capped the bottle and tossed it back to Kyle. It was a testament of progress between them that he waited until Kyle looked up before throwing it at his head. “Valenti, make sure you don’t let Liz drive home.”

Liz turned from where she was muttering to herself in front of the pod as she tried to recreate her actions and thoughts on the day she had placed Max in the pod. She scowled over her shoulder, “I’m fine, Mikey.”

“No one is fine right now, Ortecho, but we’re gonna be, okay? You can’t lose hope. We’ve conquered serum poisoning, military conspiracies, actual death, and man, even Valenti has managed to develop a non-offensive personality since high school, so regressed alien brains are gonna be a snap to fix.”

Kyle rolled his eyes before commenting to Alex in a voice loud enough for Michael to overhear, “You sure you want to be with that asshole? I know a pediatric nurse with a much better personality. I could give you his number.”

“Tempting, but I doubt he looks like _that_ in a suit.”

Michael winked at Alex as the nerves among everyone lessened at the by-play. “ _Thank you_ , a man with actual taste.”

It was Alex’s turn to roll his eyes, before he waved toward the mouth of the mine. “All right, GQ, ready?”

Taking a deep breath first, Michael lifted the unconscious body of Jesse Manes with his power to guide it outside as Alex took care not to limp too heavily as he trailed behind them. Max watched curiously from Isobel’s side as Michael stepped past them but as soon as they made it out to the cool February night, Alex heard the scrabble of footsteps behind them. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay…” Isobel called behind them as Max bolted toward Michael in the dark. “He’s not going far-”

After dropping Jesse into the back of the Explorer, Michael turned to meet the panicked grab by Max with both arms. “Hey bro, you’re okay! You’re okay, you’ve got Iz, okay? I gotta go with Alex. You know Alex, he’s like my Liz, and somewhere in your messed up head you know Liz...” He looked over Max’s shoulder at Alex, the glow of the headlights shadowing helpless confusion on his face, as he rubbed the back of his brother in reassurance. “Um, so he’s really freaking out. Like in my head.”

Max pushed his head into Michael’s neck, clutching him tightly. Michael slowly closed his arms around him, his hands seeking out a place to hold awkwardly, like a climber on a sheer rock wall feeling for unseen grip. For all the deep love between the two brothers, the physicality of it looked long neglected between them in Michael’s uncertain movements.

Instinct had brought Max to Michael’s side and he showed no signs of letting go from Alex’s view. 

Leaning against the Explorer, Alex marshaled a reassuring smile for Michael. He glanced at the rear hatch where his father was and then back to where Isobel hovered next to Michael and Max while Liz and Kyle emerged from the mine. “I can take care of my dad on my own since you have your hands full with Max. Just, why don’t I text you once I’m back to the cabin, and we can go from there.”

Michael dropped his gaze down to his brother and then back up in reluctant agreement. “Be careful.”

“Always. You too.” Alex hesitated outside the driver’s side door, looking at the crowd of their friends who were watching in various shades of interest. After a stressful evening celebrating his promotion, he had been looking forward to falling into bed with Michael and now, he couldn’t shake the uncomfortable feeling of wrongness in leaving him behind. It was stupid because they had been separated many times before for a variety of reasons, some self-inflicted, and some not.

Whether it was because his father was now awake from the pod or because Max was clearly not himself, Alex had to force himself into the front seat to keep from turning back to try and pry Michael free of his brother. The tug of war was at least an old companion, feeling the pull of his instinct to stay near Michael and the push of his habit of leaving under the guise of what was best for Michael. 

That was the fatigue talking, Alex reminded himself, not prescience. Maria was the psychic, he was just the pessimist. He started the car with a self-deprecating shake of his head and lifted his eyes to find Michael. 

Standing just to the side of the car, with one arm still wrapped around Max, Michael mouthed three words to him with his free hand lifted in farewell.

Despite their audience, Alex answered out loud, “I love you too.”

***

“- and when Max woke up from the pod, he pulled my dad free too.”

Parked on the side of Rt-380 with the blue and white lights of the police cruiser bouncing off of both cars, Alex wrapped up his explanation of events to Michelle Valenti as smoothly as he could. Her face remained expressionless as he started with how Max had ended up in the pod, and finished with his actions in securing Jesse. It was only after he recounted how Kyle had narrowly avoided being murdered that she cracked her composure with a hand covering her mouth in horror.

“I’m familiar with how the pods work, Alex.” The sheriff peered into the back of the Explorer with a frown, “You said he’s sedated now, and personally, I wouldn’t mind dropping him off a bridge right now, but what would you like me to do?”

“I honestly don’t know. I thought… I thought I wanted him dead. I mean I should- the things he’s done are unforgivable, not just to me.” Alex took a deep breath and forced his shoulders back to face the underlying truth of the matter. “But if I truly wanted him dead, the pod would have killed him.”

The lights and roar of a passing 18-wheeler coming out of the dark only temporarily drowned out the chiding voices inside his head.

It felt like a personal failure. After everything his father had done to Alex, had done to Kyle and his family, and most especially, the unforgivable evil he had rained down on Michael and Michael’s mother, the pod should have found an unequivocal desire inside of Alex to end his father’s life. The fact that it didn’t tore Alex up inside. Whatever feeble familial bonds between them had been dormant for years. He should want his father dead and gone. It was both the easiest outcome to manage thanks to Noah’s actions and the safest one in light of the deeper military operation. Yet, the pod had latched onto his feelings about fear and submission, and had left his father alive. 

Now more than ever he had to consider that maybe his father was ultimately right. After Iraq, he’d grown used to his body betraying him, after his childhood he knew his mind would do the same, but this cut deeper. He really was weak. 

“Not necessarily, I doubt Liz Ortecho wanted Max to forget her. It’s alien technology picking up and interpreting human thoughts, and you and I both know that even as humans we don’t understand one another’s motives cleanly.”

“True,” he acknowledged heavily, forcing himself to accept that perspective as possible. The time he spent in uniform meant he had developed instincts in eliminating threats and labeling casualties as acceptable losses, but perhaps Sheriff Valenti was correct and the pod had misidentified his motives. 

Another car drove by, the lights briefly blinding Alex before it passed, leaving the blue wash of the police squad car in its wake. The visibility on the side of the road and the short window of unconsciousness increased his sense of urgency. “For now, my dad is terrified of me. I’m not sure how long that will last, but in the meantime, we need to get a cover story in place about his survival. Most of the Project believes he’s dead.”

Sheriff Valenti nodded in thought, “I can drop him in a place tonight where he’ll be discovered by one of my new hires on patrol, and then have him admitted as a John Doe at the hospital. With his uniform in place, they’ll contact the base first before running his prints.”

“The whole base is still celebrating, there’s a skeleton crew on watch right now. I’ll be able to bury that notification for a few days with no trouble.”

“Then what?”

“I’ll figure something out. Before we sedated him, he wasn’t able to speak and he showed all the signs of a panic disorder.”

“From what you were thinking when you used the pod.”

“Right,” Alex ducked his head, avoiding the sympathetic look. “Anyway, we can use that. Get a temporary psych hold in place to buy us some more time while I figure out just how much my dad knows and what he plans on doing with that knowledge.”

“I’d like to have him in a cell facing attempted murder charges. You said he tried to shoot my son?” Michelle opened the back seat of her cruiser, glancing up worriedly. “Any chance you have some evidence on that?”

“Limited. I still haven’t worked out why he didn’t have us both arrested for trespassing at Caulfield and setting off the failsafe. Flint thinks he’s protecting family, but my dad isn’t sentimental like that.” Alex sighed, rubbing at the bridge of his nose before he popped open the back hatch of his SUV. 

“He probably thought you would fall in line after his operatives had Michael Guerin in custody for Noah’s crimes. You out-witted him there, Alex. We can do it again if he wakes up ready to make trouble.” Sheriff Valenti placed a hand on his shoulder, tapping her finger on his newly minted oak leaves on his dress blues meaningfully. “I’ll help you in whatever way I can, just as long as I know you’re not holding anything else back?”

Alex covered her hand with his, savoring the brief moment of strength from her support. In the month since he had taken over the military oversight of the Roswell project, he had enjoyed collaborating with Michelle Valenti. She had proven to be a valuable ally in running interference with the now-departing Agent Ross and she had long since sent the odious Agent Rollins back to Albuquerque after Noah’s body was found. 

Together they had closed the Bracken case and had compiled satisfactory reports for General Leighton. Tonight after he realized the situation with his father, Alex had not hesitated in calling for assistance. It was a welcome change from two months ago when he felt like he was fighting for Michael’s safety all on his own.

The scattered light of the blue and white cruiser splashed over his features as he lifted his eyebrow in answer, “Did I happen to mention Rosa Ortecho is back from the dead?”

***

Much later with his prosthesis stowed and his dress uniform bagged for the dry cleaner, Alex laid down on his bed with his phone in hand. He already had a waiting message from Michael, a simple, **“At Max’s. No change,”** sent a few hours ago. 

He typed in a response, keeping his eyes on his phone and away from the empty expanse of mattress next to him. **“Home now,”** he paused before continuing on the app in a bland code out of caution, **“car is empty now after a garbage run.”**

Almost immediately his phone rang in his hand with Michael’s icon flashing on the screen. “Hi.”

“Hi yourself,” Michael replied in a soft low voice. There was a rustle in the background of sheets. “I’m glad you had no issues with the ‘trash’, my vote was it’s a big desert.”

Alex closed his eyes, hearing the smile in Michael’s voice. “Now that would be illegal dumping, and I could have gotten a ticket or fine for that. ‘Course, I think the Sheriff agreed with you. She was none-too-happy hearing the details.”

“But she’s on your side? She’ll help?”

“Yeah,” Alex breathed, and then continued to soothe the spike of anxiety in Michael. “She’ll help. Don’t worry about that. Tell me what’s going on there, how’s Max?”

There was another swish of linen and a grunt, before he answered, “Well, I had to use my TK to drive Isobel’s car since he hasn’t let go of me yet.”

“Not even now?”

“Sorry sweetheart,” Michael’s voice grew light and teasing in a whisper, “I’m a bad, bad boyfriend because I am laying in bed with another man right now. Forgive me.”

Alex made a playful shocked sound in response, pressing his hand against his chest even though Michael couldn’t see it. “You cad! On the night of my promotion party, even.”

Hearing Michael chuckle warmly in his ear, so close, made the empty stretch of his mattress seem larger. Alex moved over to Michael’s side of the bed, letting the unique smell of his pillow blend with the sound of his voice to help ease the loneliness. If he closed his eyes he could pretend for a moment that Michael was there.

The addiction that had started when Alex was 17, had been painfully managed with starts and stops over the last ten years, but the recent allowance to binge in a flourish of a ready supply had Alex out of sorts. Cold turkey was a bitch, or else he was dangerously codependent on Michael now.

That was fine. He would open up his veins again with a smile. 

The amusement faded over the call. Michael let out a whisper of a sigh, “I wish I was there,” echoing Alex’s thought out loud.

“Me too.” The exertions of the day were catching up to Alex as he wedged the phone between his ear and the pillow. There was still a matter of his nightly routines to do, the daily care on his leg, and taking his meds but he was loath to let Michael go just yet. “So you’re camped out in Max’s bed with him?”

“Max and Isobel both. Passed out in one big alien puppy pile,” Michael observed, in a low bitterly dry amused husk. “This is so weird, Alex. I’ve never been his favorite. Not sure why he won’t let me go when he has Iz here.”

As always, it never failed to break Alex’s heart to hear Michael question why someone might love him or want him around. “You’re his brother, of course you’re a source of comfort to him. He’s probably feeling very lost right now. I know things were rough between you guys over the last few years, but it looks like he doesn’t remember that. He just remembers your connection.”

There was silence between them as Michael digested that. Alex heard him take a deep breath and slowly let it out, proof that Michael had absorbed more than a few of Alex’s self-soothing habits in their time living together. The sound and action helped Alex picture him. Michael was probably squeezed to the edge of the bed with Isobel bookending Max, while wearing some borrowed t-shirt. 

“Yeah, I guess you’re right. And really, I need to focus on the important stuff like how to get the old Max back. I swear Valenti was five seconds from drugging Liz into compliance earlier and then when you think about the fact every other thought Max has had for the last 15 years started with her name, this whole thing is a mess. Forget about my stupid bullshit-” Michael responded, his voice quiet with misery.

“Talk to me, Michael. I want to know about your bullshit, okay?”

“It’s fine, more than that, it’s nothing.”

“I’m trying to remember the last time I said ‘it’s nothing’ to you and then you let it go unchallenged. Hmmm, might have been the second Monday of never? So I repeat, talk to me.”

Michael huffed out a soft, annoyed exhale with a muttered ‘fuck me’. The rasp of shifting sheets and the faint creak of a headboard registered in the background as Alex patiently waited for his response. 

The response was not what Alex was expected.

“I miss you so much, wish I was there touching you now,” Michael murmured into the phone, dark and dirty. “You’re so big, so perfect. Yeah, yeah are you touching yourself, baby? Just like that- ”

Arousal warred with confusion as Alex couldn’t help but swallow hard, choking in surprise. He knew there was absolutely no way that Michael would attempt phone sex while he was sharing a bed with both his siblings, but that did little to discourage the rush of blood southward.

Before he could comment, Michael exhaled again with a muffled sound of satisfaction, “All right, Isobel is definitely asleep.”

“You’re such a dick-”

“Sorry.” 

Alex rolled his eyes hearing the slightly smug smile under the unapologetic tone. “You will be, later.” He heard a muted sound of amusement, which was an improvement from the sorrow of before. Alex half closed his eyes, hearing Michael lick his lips absently on the line as the brief spark of impish teasing dissipated. “Tell me what’s wrong.”

“If this is Max, um, like he was right out of the pod when we were kids, then- I dunno, I kinda built this whole belief system on the idea, that they- that when the Evanses came to the group home, no one- he didn’t-” Michael stopped and started, struggling in a hoarse voice, “he didn’t latch onto me then. They didn’t fight to stay with me.”

The small admission of an ancient pain. No wonder he wanted to make sure Isobel was asleep and unaware. Michael was always shielding his siblings from his pain, from his low self-worth that bouncing through the foster system instilled and then hammered into a sharp blade that cut both ways. It meant something to Alex that he was able to share this, even if it took some focused prodding. 

“Oh, Michael,” Alex felt the burn of tears threaten. 

“First my parents left me alone with Max and Isobel, then Max and Isobel left me alone at the group home. No one wanted me for a long time, until the only people who took a second look at me were not good people and even they got tired of me. So I figured, the common denominator was me.” Michael took another steadying breath on the line, “So yeah, this is just bringing back my memories of what happened back then. ‘Cause I still can’t remember my mom leaving me, but I remember Max latching onto Isobel when Ann Evans saw a little blonde girl she wanted. I mean, I’m glad they had it easier, getting adopted, but I can’t help but think about the what-ifs. What if he had picked me then. It’s dumb, though. I shouldn’t-”

Alex cut off the start of Michael downplaying his feelings as he wiped at his own eyes, “You should. It’s okay to feel this way. It wasn’t fair, Michael. It wasn’t fair you had to go through the system the way you did. That so many people failed you. A terrible thing happened to you, but it also happened to Max and Isobel. You were all children, at the mercy of adults.”

“I know,” Michael agreed quietly. “Intellectually, I’ve always known that. It’s just, he was in my head earlier, holding onto me, telling me not to let go of him. That he didn’t want to lose me. As if I was the one who left- but fuck, I’m not someone who leaves. I’m the one who gets left. It’s like my superpower, people bail or I make ‘em bail.”

Alex inhaled sharply, feeling his own stab of guilt from his past actions. This was the tricky part, listening to Michael’s pain, allowing him the space to share it, without getting caught up in his own feelings of having contributed to it over the years. Though Michael was correct in the acknowledgment, he was supremely gifted in making people leave as he had proved over the years with Alex.

Tiptoeing through the minefield again, Alex closed his eyes to feel his way through it.

“I know, Michael. Just, I want you to think about it this way, that they lost you back then, but it was because _they were taken_ from you, not because they left you. Okay? And if Max is clinging to you like this, maybe he remembers just how bad it was when he was a child and doesn’t want it to happen again. Maybe he remembers just how awful it is to miss you.”

“Maybe.”

“I’m speaking as the leading expert on missing Michael Guerin, okay, and it sucks. I’m also the expert on feeling guilty about leaving you, so-”

“Don’t you dare start apologizing for the past-” Michael cut him off with a firm warning.

Fuck. That was a live mine, Alex noted, backtracking mentally. “Sorry, you’re right. Trust me, I have no desire to reignite our January 16th fight,” he replied with exaggerated seriousness. 

Michael sputtered, a little exhalation of air that broke the heavy mood between them. “You remember the day of the fight?”

“Of course I do, I mean that particular fight we’ve had before, but the most recent go around was after Christmas and after we-” Alex stopped, feeling the heat of embarrassment light up his face. There was a moment where he considered reversing track, covering for his exposed feelings out of habit but after hearing the origins of Michael’s scars he couldn’t. At least it was a little easier to confess over the phone without Michael in front of him. “Um, ever since we got back together, I make note of every holiday we spend together. So we had that fight, but it was also Appreciate a Dragon Day, January 16th. And when I took you to the drive-in on that Saturday, it was National Popcorn Day.”

“Jesus, I didn’t think I could love you more but then your dorky ass does this and I do.” Michael paused, breathing lightly on the line and shifting again. “Now I really miss you.”

He couldn’t help but smile, feeling the accomplishment of lifting Michael’s spirits even slightly. “I miss you too and I’m feeling pretty selfish right now, ‘cause I hope your brother snaps back to normal in the morning.”

“Me too. It’s only been a few hours and I’m already tired of the telepathetic thing with him. I’m real happy the console taught me how to manage it but it’s a lot. I like your mind the best still, but probably because I like you the best, period.” Micheal cleared his throat with another pause before he changed the subject deliberately, “Anyway, so are you in bed too?”

“I am. Trying to summon the energy to finish my PT and take my pills. Usually I’ve got someone prodding me.”

“Mmm, I hate that I’m missing that. It’s one of my favorite parts of the day.”

Alex chuckled in disbelief, “Yeah, you are weirdly attentive to that. I don’t get it.”

“Watching you move and stretch your body? You don’t get how I could enjoy that? To say nothin’ of the post-therapy massage you do with that oil-” Michael’s voice relit the arousal along Alex’s nerves, as his slow drawl dropped into a deep rumble, before he cut off with an exclamation. “Fuck! Iz!”

In the background, Isobel was clearly heard protesting in a peeved voice, “You woke me up with your sweet nothings to Alex, and while Max might not be able to understand you, I sure as hell can. So I’m telling you, you’re not going to have phone sex with Alex, but more than that, you’re going to shut the hell up and go to sleep, okay?”

“We’re talking about physical therapy,” Michael complained to her and then heaved a put-upon sigh. “It’s not sexual, if it were I’d be talkin’ about-”

“Guerin,” Alex scolded, feeling a rush of embarrassment and fondness. 

Michael subsided instantly. For a long moment they breathed together on the line, filling the space with the unsaid longing. “I should let you go, you need to rest and do your PT. But I’ll see you tomorrow, right?”

“Tomorrow,” and then, as he fought past his reluctance to end the call, Alex added sweetly, “and Michael, Happy National Pizza day.” He pressed his hand against his mouth, feeling the smile that widened at hearing Michael’s caught off-guard giggle that mingled with Isobel’s annoyed complaint of being too loud again.

The line dropped into silence. Alex allowed himself a moment of self-pity before he pushed himself off the bed and reached for his crutch. Michael would not be happy if he knew Alex had blown off his evening routines just because he felt needy and lonely. 

It was just one night apart, after all. There were still more days and nights spent apart between them, then there were spent together. He could do this. Addict, or codependent, he was still a battle-tested airman who was practiced in making do. 

One night was easy.

***

In the end it did not turn into just one night.

The next morning Alex woke in a disconcerting cloud of confusion, which eventually lifted as he remembered Michael was at Max’s house. He didn’t know if it was his usual comfort of covering all bases, or a resurgence of his cynicism, but he packed a bag of Michael’s clothes and toiletries.

After Christmas, Alex had dumped the contents of the two lower drawers of the dresser, mainly surplus sweatpants and extra socks, into plastic bins for storage in the upper closet shelves. Bare cedar-lined drawers had effectively robbed Michael of his voice, even as Alex had felt the surge of fear and hope through the handprint at the sight. His reasonable and logical explanation that bending on his prosthesis to reach those drawers was awkward and therefore they would be better served as a home for Michael’s clothes had Michael blinking hard and looking away.

Once Michael’s too few possessions had been stowed in the same place as Alex’s, he had pulled Alex to the bed and made his desires about being fucked crystal clear through the bond print. Even to the current day, Michael putting away his clean clothes in the dresser, never failed to inspire a desire for sex.

Laundry day, Alex learned, was a guaranteed two orgasm day and generated yet more laundry. 

Calling back to happier memories barely distracted Alex from the feeling he had as he pulled out the soft plaid shirts from Michael’s side of the dresser to fill a bag. It was akin to pulling on a scab, that covered a raw wound still ready to bleed. 

This was a hedged bet that he hoped he wouldn’t need to pay out as he left the cabin to meet everyone.

Max’s house was crowded with cars again, a callback to that morning after his truce with Michael when they first embarked on the now-laughable attempt to only be friends while the cloud of suspicion was over Michael. Alex chose to drive Michael’s truck over as just another, hopefully unneeded precaution taken and he slotted the Chevy at the end of the line of cars, next to Liz’s Toyota and Kyle’s BMW.

He walked into the house that was already loud with chaos. The screen door slammed shut behind him, just as Rosa pulled roughly away from Liz’s hand. The results of her shopping trip with Maria were in full effect, as she wore leggings, with layered t-shirts and a thick bulky belt. The classic Rosa red lipstick caught the eye since it was only nine o’clock in the morning. 

“Liz! I don’t know what I was thinking! I think a lot of things, all at once. Like my brain, it never shuts up, okay? Never,” Rosa pushed both her sleeves up, rubbing at her exposed wrist in agitation. “And we can thank Helena Ortecho for that constant joy.”

Liz looked briefly over at Alex’s entrance before following Rosa into the kitchen. “I know, but this is important. The pod picked up on your thoughts when we put Max in it. We need to know what we are dealing with-”

“How do you know that? Good god, are we back to this again? Something is fucked up, so of course it’s my fault?” Rosa yanked open the fridge and then slammed it, since it was bare from two months of vacancy. “Your thoughts were perfect I guess.”

Alex glanced around the open area of the house, finding Kyle on the couch as he held out his arm away from his body. His button down shirt was rolled up to his elbow, baring an angry red burn on his forearm. Isobel was crouched in front, carefully unwrapping a roll of white gauze to bandage it. As concerning as that was to Alex, his first priority was always the same. “Where’s Michael?”

Without looking up from her work, Isobel spoke, “Michael’s outside with Max trying to calm him down.”

“And I’m fine by the way, Alex. If you care.” Kyle quipped, before wincing slightly as Isobel wound the bandage around his arm. She paused at the reaction, and Kyle gestured encouragingly, “No, that’s a good tension, it just stung for a second.” He turned back to Alex, “Word to the wise, don’t touch Max without warning him first. He can give off a healthy shock.”

“The perils of having a child’s mind in the body of a mature alien. He’s got all of his powers with none of the controls, then just mix in all of the fear we had back then,” Isobel observed before tying off the bandage with a satisfied smirk. “Kyle here tried to do a medical exam without fully explaining himself. It’s good to know that after Max accidently flambeed someone, he did immediately try and heal it.”

“Which I declined, because I don’t need a psychic bond with my ex-girlfriend's rebooted boyfriend.”

“Don’t knock it until you try it, Valenti,” Isobel teased. 

Alex took a moment to look at the quarrelling Ortecho sisters in the kitchen, and whatever was going on the couch between Isobel and Kyle, before heading to the new french doors Michael had put in after the Noah situation. He found Michael just outside near the stone fire pit with Max hunched in a chair. 

The noise of the outside door brought Michael’s head up from where he was rubbing Max’s back gently. At first glance Max looked completely back to normal, dressed in jeans and a soft henley, while Michael looked like the one who had been regressed to childhood with his baggy sweatpants that did nothing to hide the two inches of height difference between the brothers. The curl cream from last night had long since worn off, as Michael’s hair fell into his eyes. He looked like a tall toddler in need of a nap with the expression of frustrated love on his face until he caught sight of Alex.

Seeing Michael light up at his presence openly was never going to get old to Alex. It helped bury the memories of when they were teenagers, when it was a quick glance traded, always brief and away before settling into forced casualness. 

“Hey,” Michael turned away from Max and started toward Alex. He managed three steps before Max was suddenly in front of him, blocking his path pointedly. “Max, it’s Alex. He’s not going to hurt me, or you.”

Remembering the burn on Kyle’s arm, Alex held up his hands in what he hoped was an inter-galactically known symbol of non-violence. “We met briefly last night, remember?”

Max stayed silent, looking back and forth between Michael and Alex with a crease of suspicion on his forehead.

Michael pursed his lips in frustration, and reached for Max’s face, turning him away from Alex to face him. The now-familiar wrinkle of concentration swept over Michael’s face, telegraphing to Alex that he was communicating psychically with his brother.

“Goddammit, he’s a stubborn asshole even now,” Michael muttered before sighing apologetically. “He seems to think you’re here to take me away, Alex.”

It had been a long time since he had been accused of having such transparent desires but Max wasn’t far off the mark. 

“And I guess that’s a no-go still?” Alex forced the disappointment down, even though he had prepared himself on the drive over to find the situation with Max unchanged.

“We’re still trying to figure out what the pod was instructed to do to him. Obviously he’s acting like he did when we were kids, but he was also healed from the damage of resurrecting Rosa.” Michael rubbed his fingers through his fraying curls tiredly. “So it picked up Liz’s thoughts about saving him, but this whole attachment to me and Isobel and regression to childhood had to come from Rosa.”

Alex watched as Max hovered a little anxiously at the doors, keeping an eye on Isobel through the window while remaining at Michael’s side. “And Rosa doesn’t remember what she might have had on her mind then.”

“Well to be fair, she is an addict, and she was in the middle of a forced detox while being confronted with aliens and resurrection. Can’t blame her for being less than calm and focused.” Michael placed his hand on the door handle. “Let’s see if I can get Max latched onto Isobel for a bit. I need the break, I can’t even take a piss with the door shut.”

Having lived with Michael for a while now, Alex hid a smile at the disclosure. “Didn’t realize you were capable of closing the door in the bathroom. I saw a lot of your bare ass when you first moved in as I recall.”

Sheepishly Michael shrugged, “Well, at first I was torturing you a bit. Then I was hoping maybe you might have missed my bare ass.”

He laughed and moved to give Michael a playful slap on the ass with his hand for that cheeky remark, forgetting briefly about Max’s silent sentry position. An iron tight grip encircled Alex’s wrist faster than he thought was possible. His quick inhale of alarm instantly brought Michael whirling around from his aborted step through the french doors.

“MAX! Let him go!” Michael lifted his own hand in warning.

There was a moment where Alex was sure that his own arm would match Kyle’s with an electrical burn. He was preparing himself for the pain, determined to keep any cry silent in an effort to lessen any guilt from the others. At least he was experienced enough from his childhood to develop that unique skill. 

It was thankfully Isobel who came to the rescue, smartly realizing that Michael using his TK would only succeed in worsening the situation, “Max, it’s okay. You can let him go, he won’t hurt Michael.”

Kyle, Liz and Rosa kept a few feet away, as Isobel reached for Max’s hand, still clutched around Alex’s wrist. So far the crackle of electricity was absent, as his fingers loosened under his sister’s patient touch. Max glanced back toward Alex with a frown, and then to Isobel, before saying clearly in an unhappy voice, “Manes,” as he let go and followed Isobel into the house.

“Shit, he speaks English now,” Kyle muttered, turning to Liz as she flashed a bright hopeful smile. Alex rubbed lightly at his wrist, his stomach tight at the knowledge of all words to utter aloud, it had to be his connection to his father and generations of evil behind them. 

“Slow down, Valenti,” Michael advised, letting Isobel take the lead with Max, a line appeared on his forehead as he focused on Max and the mental rapport between them. “Ah, right so there’s not a word in Antarian for Manes. Apparently he remembers pulling out his pod roommate, Jesse,” he explained, before shrugging helplessly, “we’re still at square one with getting him back to normal, since you know, we still don’t know what intent the pod was following.”

Isobel kept a light hand on Max, letting him lean against her on the couch, “His mindscape doesn’t feel empty like amnesia, or damaged like dementia. His memories are there, I think, just feels like there’s a lock on them.”

“You've been in the heads of a lot of memory challenged patients, then?” 

Alex watched as Isobel, who met any challenge normally with a lifted head and superior stare, suddenly dropped her eyes to the floor in shame at Kyle’s question. “I might have tagged along to Sunset Mesa with Maria a few times after Alex raised the alarm about the pod working on intent. Once upon a time, someone told those pods to erase our memories as kids, so I thought I would cover my bases just in case that instruction was still active.” She sighed, still holding onto Max’s arm, but this time it seemed to be for her own comfort. “Don’t look at me like that, Kyle. I didn’t hurt anyone, I just...looked into the minds of the dementia patients. And Alex, you can stop with that death glare, I didn’t touch Mimi Deluca, that was Maria’s condition in signing me into the ward. I kept it clinical, I swear.”

“Setting aside you’re not a doctor-”

“But I am the only telepath here-”

Michael cleared his throat, interrupting both Kyle and Isobel. “I think we’re all guilty of violating some standard of ethics here, let’s not get sidetracked. We don’t know if this is going to wear off, or if we need to do something to help Max along. Alex, you said the pod was used by the Air Force to permanently change behavior, right?”

“Well I’m not a doctor, but in the case of the soldier with a gambling problem, it looks like the pod changed his neurochemistry, altering the endorphin response linked to addiction. I don’t think the pod can make someone do something on a psychological level, only on a cellular level, otherwise the military would be using the pods in ways that I shudder to think about.” 

Liz nodded along with the discussion, leaning against the kitchen bar, her eyes on the books lining the walls. “We need to know more about the permanent nature of the pod’s abilities. You guys came out without remembering your planet or your parents, but you still had the ability to form memories. Max went into that pod after a cardiac event brought on by either a stroke or a bleed from an aneurysm. Obviously the damaged tissues were healed, so maybe we just need to give him time to build a connection between his neocortex and hippocampus, if they are both feeding information to him at the same time, it might feel like it’s locked behind a wall of information--”

“That’s a big assumption that their brains are similar to ours-”

“I just want him to stop clinging to me. He’s a little too old to be holding my hand or expecting me to keep the nightmares away at night,” Michael replied, ignoring Kyle’s reasonable argument. “So anything we can do to move that along-”

Quietly, Rosa spoke up, “It’s my fault. You were right, Liz.”

Silence dropped in the room as everyone but Max, who was watching Michael, focused on Rosa. 

“I remember now. I remember that I woke up in that cave, 10 years after my apparent murder, with my sister a brilliant scientist, and she was crying over her dead alien boyfriend and I thought, this was too much. This was too complex, that things were simpler when I was a kid. Because Mom was trying to be a mom then, and all I had to worry about was making sure Liz held my hand crossing the street.” Rosa crossed her arms, rubbing at her elbows restlessly. “Could be worse, I could have been thinking about getting high. Pretty sure Deputy Evans wouldn’t get his job back if he was jonesing for a fix.”

***

Michael followed Alex out to the driveway quietly, letting the din of discussion cover their retreat. Currently, Isobel was theorizing that she could jump-start Max’s understanding of the past with their mental link, while Liz and Kyle worked through the dangers of overwhelming him with information. 

“Any particular reason why you haven’t mentioned what you can do with the handprint?” Alex asked softly, leaning against the hood of Michael’s truck while Michael pulled out the packed bag from the passenger seat. 

Michael kept his back to Alex, unzipping the bag to check the contents. “Hasn’t come up yet.”

“Err, I think the moment Isobel mentioned bringing Max into her mindspace, it came up. You were able to show me memories through the print, Michael. That time you took me back to our first kiss? I relived it so completely eleven years later, that I suspect you have an eidetic memory.”

“Wow, how long are you expecting me to be stuck here?” Michael turned, with an almost hurt expression as he avoided Alex’s comment and gestured to the full bag. “I feel like I should take it personally that you have at least two weeks of clothes in here. Tired of me already?”

“Of course not.” It was his turn to lift an eyebrow silently at Michael, with his own reproachful expression. “I’m a pessimist, Michael, so I naturally was expecting that this wasn’t going to be solved after one night of sleep. But seriously, back to the hand print, that could be helpful-”

“All right. I didn’t say anything about it, because you’re right. My memory is eidetic, and you’re not the only one who relives every moment of the memory I share, okay? It’s hard enough talking about this with you, about how it was after we were found by that trucker.” A loose curl dropped into his face as he turned back toward Max’s house as he gestured uselessly, “I can’t share a memory without being back in that moment and the bond is meant to share my every feeling. Why do you think I showed you our first kiss but not our first time?”

That did make a lot of sense. Even Alex wasn’t able to separate his feelings about how it felt to lose his virginity with Michael with what happened shortly afterward with his father. His mind got as far as remembering the late afternoon light streaming in the shed’s window, feeling nervous-excited twist that came with knowing Michael shared his feelings but even more thrilling he acted on them and then- 

Alex could never keep the shed door from swinging open, no matter how hard he tried to hold onto the good part of that memory.

Shuffling closer to Michael, Alex took advantage of the moment of privacy to place both hands on Michael’s hips, turning Michael to face him. He tugged Michael closer, who fell against him willingly, forever obedient to a guided touch. Deliberately Alex waited until Michael lifted his eyes from his mouth to speak, “I know it hurts, the past. If I could take this pain from you I would-”

“Alex, I wouldn’t let you, okay? You take on too much as it is, which I might have mentioned a time or two in the past at great volume.”

That was an understatement and a coda from the January 16th loudly argued discussion.

“Maybe, but I think we’re both alike in that regard, we want to protect the people we love. However part of being together means we can lean on each other, right? Both literally and figuratively.” Alex rested his forehead against Michael, feeling the tension from the last 24 hours slowly seep out. “Facing the past with Max, showing him those moments he’s forgotten, it won’t be easy I know, but you won’t have to do it alone. You have me.”

Michael exhaled softly, bringing his hands up to cup Alex’s face between his warm palms. “Goddamnit. I just want to go home with you and spend the rest of the weekend in bed, not relive the greatest hits of foster care and high school, and fuck- those years where I didn’t have anyone, not you, not Max.”

“As much as I want you to come home with me too, you and I both know that it’s a bad idea to use the bedroom as an escape from reality. We can’t repeat our past mistakes.” Alex turned his head to kiss Michael’s palm, with a rueful half-smile, “And I say that as someone who spent leave here in Roswell using you to forget about what I was doing with my life.” 

Unable to stop himself, he moved his mouth from lipping gently at Michael’s palm to close the scant space to lay a kiss on his lips. 

“I didn’t mind being used back then, and you can use me some more if you want-” Michael mumbled under the sweet assault, deepening the kiss. Alex let him lick into his mouth, spinning Alex back against the side of the truck. The harsh rasp of stubble stung against Alex’s lips, breaking through the decadent haze that cloaked his senses every time Michael kissed him.

Reluctantly Alex pulled back, resting the back of his head against the warming metal under the late morning sunshine. His palms moved up and down Michael’s back, feeling the ripple of muscle under his fingertips. With an ear out for the front door of the house, he knew that their time before interruption was limited. 

“This go-around, we have the benefit of time. I’m not going anywhere while you attend to your family.” He felt a sudden wave of tension under his hand as Michael shifted. There was a quick flash of insecurity in those hazel eyes as Michael twisted to look at the front door of Max’s house.

“I know, I guess I should head back in-”

Before, Alex would have let Michael go without holding on because that’s what Alex prefered himself when things hit too close to his raw spots. Now he linked his fingers behind Michael’s back, keeping his body caught in an embrace and used the momentum to trap Michael against the side of his own truck. 

Michael shuddered against the hold, his eyes losing the anxious fear, growing dark as his muscles softened in surrender under the unyielding grip from Alex. 

He pressed his advantage, while Michael grew heavy-lidded under his attention. “I love you,” the words coming faster and easier the more he said them, as he sought to press the meaning into Michael’s skin. “I’m not going anywhere, okay?”

Michael smiled weakly, “I love you too. It’s just, you heard the brain trust arguin’ back there- this isn’t gonna to be some overnight fix with Max. It’s twenty years of memories he’d got locked up. So I don’t know how long I’ll have to be here with him. This might be months-” 

Alex leaned in to kiss him again, trying to chase away all of the lingering traces of that fragile, uncertain expression behind Michael’s eyes. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. We take it one day at a time, and if it looks like this is dragging on, then we’ll deal with it together. I’ll move in here with you, or Liz and I can come to some agreement over the couch.” He turned, waving his hand to the wide open expanse of land around them. “I’ll move your Airstream here and live in it, or I could have a house built next door and we can test the range with Max if he’s still adamant you stay in his vicinity.”

“Build a house? You’re insane, you know that, right?”

“I’m just reminding you that there's a lot of ways this can play out, but I’m going to be here for you in all of them unless you tell me differently.”

“Nah, I’m done with tryin’ to be anything or anyone other than yours, Alex.”

There was nothing to do with that statement but take possession of that sweet mouth that always doubled down on what Alex had thought was a pretty romantic declaration for him. From the glint of satisfied humor in Michael’s eyes, as Alex closed the scant space to kiss him, he knew exactly what he was doing. 

The front door swung open, startling them both as Max stepped outside with Isobel on his heels. A ripple of energy washed over both of them, raising the hair on Alex’s arm like the warning before a lightning strike. Slowly Alex dropped his hold on Michael, freeing him, and backed up a foot, then two feet, out of caution. The ozone feeling intensified for a moment before washing away with the breeze as the space between them widened. 

He spoke out of the corner of his kiss-bruised mouth, as Max moved to place himself between Alex and Michael protectively. “Didn’t you once tell me Max blew out the power to Roswell after a temper tantrum?”

“Oh yeah, but to be fair, the love of his life had accused him of murder.” Michael placed a hand on Max’s shoulder, gently guiding him back to the house, before turned back to Alex, “I admit, I’m a little curious to what he would do if you smuggled me out of here-” Max latched his hand onto Michael’s wrist firmly, “Okay big guy, calm down. I’m not going anywhere and I’m going to be giving you so much shit for this once you’re back in your overly dramatic mind.”

“Tell Kyle he needs to drive me home before I have to explain another alien-induced blackout before my 90-day evaluation with General Leighton. That would not look good on my service jacket.”

After Kyle had dropped Alex off at the cabin, he looked around at the new gaps in the decor where Michael’s possessions were missing. How could there be so many noticeable places in his home, now empty and hollow after just a few months. For a moment he felt that unnerving touch of unreality, a memento of his PTSD that had him questioning his memory of events. 

The silver gleam of the Airstream, jutting out from next to the cabin, splashing the metallic reflection through the corner of his window at least dispelled that.

Shrugging off his jacket, he tossed it in the direction of the chair, much like Michael would do after coming home from work. Covering vertical areas with mess while keeping the important footpaths meticulously clear of chaos with mobility in mind was one of Michael’s more thoughtful and yet annoying habits. Continuing with that in mind he displaced the pillows on the bed, and closed the now empty clothing drawers. The nettled feeling of loss calmed for the moment as he replicated the touches that Michael had left.

Alex thought back to the fear Michael had that this separation would not be a short one and did his best to summon his optimism that the talk of months was simply his usual pessimism rubbing off on Michael. Neither of them was used to good things happening but that didn’t mean the possibility was nonexistent. However long their separation persisted, whether it was over in a matter of a week or if it stretched across months, methodically creating a disarray around the cabin to distract himself from Michael’s absence wasn’t going to last long as a placebo. 

What Alex needed was a healthy diversion that was unconnected to work at the base. 

In the meantime, he had the upcoming call from the local hospital on the horizon. After Sheriff Valenti arranged for his father to be “found”, it was only a matter of time before he was contacted. Figuring out the next move there and if the pod’s effects were long term would keep him busy.

Though he had his doubts about whether any time spent outmaneuvering his father could be considered healthy or diversion. It felt akin to those weeks after the drive-in charity night, where the work to hamstring his father had filled his mind in order to push out his thoughts about Michael. A separation of his own making was no less difficult to manage as it turned out. 

Perhaps he needed to accompany Rosa to her next meeting at the community center to deal with this withdrawal. 

Four months on from his somewhat successful quest for a healthy diversion, Alex found himself back where he started last December; at the Chaves County jail. Squinting in the bright June sun, he signed Michael out of lockup. He had to concede that Michael was right on two counts. Bringing Max back to himself was a task that had stretched over months and Michael’s super power was pushing other people away.

“Thanks for coming.”

Alex shrugged as if that was even in question and held open the door of the Explorer for Michael to gingerly slip inside. He studied Michael’s black eye, split lip and the closed fragile expression on his face. “Thanks for waiting until after my performance evaluation to get arrested. So where am I taking you, home or-”

“Take me home, Alex. With you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all- thanks for hanging in there with me. So my life is complicated right now, fandom is a bit divisive, and writer's block is still a thing I get even when it's all 100 percent perfect! I'm getting back on my Malex bullshit though, next up is tackling some neglected comments. I appreciate all the love and support. 
> 
> I'm not a hundred percent happy with this chapter- for something that was supposed to wrap up my story, it ended up being filler, haha. I guess I just don't want to let go of my universe. Anyway, final chapter is 23 and it's in progress.


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue (part 1)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First half, hope you enjoy. There's some adult content in the second half of this chapter, NSFW.
> 
> Special thanks to tasyfa and maura for their beta work.

“I’m sorry.”

They never used to apologize to each other. Ten years, on both sides, were stockpiles of exhausted ammunition shells from shouted arguments that boiled down to ‘I have to go/ you never want to stay/ you never ask me to’. Then as they moved back into step together, finding that they had the same reaching grasp of fingertips for each other, the apologies began. The ‘I’m sorry I pushed’ and the ‘I’m sorry I wasn’t ready’ peppered the ground until just the beginning of an ‘I’m sorry’ brought a new type of mortar, packed with the gunpowder of fatigue, into an argument.

The course correction in their relationship quickly fell into an over-correction.

Alex made a point to find comfort in Michael’s assertion that if they kept apologizing for the past, they would never have a moment to enjoy the present. It was a weak muscle, feeling like he was loved enough for forgiveness and acceptance, particularly thin and unused toward himself, but he did the lifting. Practicing it, building it up through the power of Michael’s belief, which was strong enough to buoy his own hitching steps on that path, until he was able to halt an instinct from childhood from manifesting during a charged discussion. 

Cutting his eyes sideways to Michael, he was thankful that the battered black eye was facing the outside as he weighed what it meant that Michael was extending an apology. Just as no relationship could survive constant apologies, neither could it stand on stable legs without the option of extending one when needed.

Between growing up with Jesse Manes and Michael’s time in foster care, they were both blind to what a healthy balance even was and instead they had to rely on the currency of absolutes, like math. Rationing the ‘I’m sorrys’ to two a month between them made it valuable and meaningful. They were reserved for actual disagreements, not just syllables uttered out of abuse-tailored reflexes. Sometimes a preemptive apology had saved Alex from a beating, sometimes a quickly proffered contrition had earned Michael a place at the dinner table with the religious Wilson family. 

It was four days into June and Michael was already laying down that valuable chit.

Belatedly Alex realized the silence in the car, that had bloomed as they left Chaves County lockup, was now withering into a strained poison between them. “I know you are, and I’m not mad.”

Michael winced, his hand going to his face, as he tried to lift his eyebrow dubiously. “You haven’t said five words since we left lock up, but you’re not mad?”

“I’m concerned, but not mad.”

“Well you should be mad. I know you said your performance review was over, but what about your security clearance-”

“It’s not up for review for another four and a half years.” Alex kept his eyes on the road, slowing the car as they came up on a cluster of residential houses that were spread comfortably in the outskirts of Roswell. 

The neighborhood was developed enough for city sewer but not so manicured that it was covered in the artificially green landscaping of Isobel’s Stepford community. Native grasses and decorative crushed pebble beds eliminated the need for grass, and more importantly for Alex, removed the chore of mowing a lawn for most of the dotted houses on the street.

As he turned the Explorer into the driveway, he let the waiting figure, leaning against her old Ford register for Michael. 

“You called Rosa, and you’ve been busy,” Michael acknowledged, looking past her distinctly unamused face to focus on the shiny silver roof of the Airstream. It was parked near the low adobe wall that wound around the backside of the house and patio firepit, and Michael’s Chevy was still connected at the trailer hitch. Ready to leave or ready to stay was all a matter of perspective. “I thought we decided that-”

“Michael,” Alex cut him off gently, after he parked the car. The engine ticked in the quiet. He found Michael’s hand, guiding it away from where he was probing the split skin at his mouth. “I know that I suggested it, and that you went along with it. Just like old times, except this time I heard you, okay? And now I’m going to use one of mine now. _I’m_ sorry.”

Hope and wariness flickered over Michael’s face, before he nodded to where Rosa was still waiting. “And that? You decided to call her?”

“Actually she called me this morning. She thinks you need a meeting, and there’s one happening at St. John’s in an hour.” Alex licked his lower lip before bringing their joined hands up to press a soft kiss on the back of Michael’s hand. “Afterward, maybe we could talk about what happened at the Wild Pony. ‘Cause picking you up from that holding cell was the worst kind of deja vu for me.”

Alex leaned back and reached to open the car door, before Michael halted him with his hand. Rubbing a thumb over Alex’s stubbled jaw, evidence of a hastened and shortened morning routine, Michael took a deep breath. “I fucked up, I know. I let that guy get to me, but it doesn’t matter how hard I try to control my temper, I’m always going to want to defend you.”

“I understand why it was hard, because I feel the same way. I always want to protect you too and I couldn’t do it last night with you in custody. You can’t throw a punch at the son of the mayor, no matter how much he deserved it.”

“But if you heard what he said-”

“Let’s put it this way, I’ve probably been called worse than whatever he said, by people I am even related to. We can talk about this more tonight, because I think it wasn’t just about what that guy said that set you off.”

The closed expression returned, as Michael clenched his jaw in acknowledgment and dropped his hand away from Alex to grab roughly at the car door. “Fine.” He slipped from the Explorer with a hasty retreat, and then strode toward the house with a stiff spine. “I gotta go wash up and take a piss, then I’ll be ready for this shitshow, Rosa,” Michael called over his shoulder before the front door quietly shut behind him.

At least in his agitated state, Michael remembered that Beckett, Alex’s new foster dog, didn’t react well to loud, slammed doors. 

Rosa met Alex with an unsympathetic expression, “Looks like he’s in a great mood, so this will be fun.”

Alex listened toward the house for sounds of his dog barking and then relaxed at the quiet. Beckett in his short time at the house had already decided that Michael was his favorite. They were both, canine and human, united on that front. 

“Sheriff Valenti wouldn’t release him last night to me, so he’s probably cranky from sleeping in that holding cell,” Alex met her unmoved expression and sighed, rubbing at the corner of his eye. His own rest was disturbed throughout the night, not even the presence of Beckett snoring next to him was enough to shut off the worry. “I’m not crazy about how his eye swelled up, but it’s not like we could let a doctor see him, and Kyle is still in Sante Fe.”

“That white boy has you so wrapped around his finger, Alex, you’re making excuses for him. He’s been wound tight for a while, ever since his brother came out of the pod. Now my sister is so disgustingly happy with Max back in his right mind, why isn’t Curly all sunshine and joy?”

“Probably because he spent the last four months bringing Max back? Didn’t really leave a lot of time to process what’s happened,” he pointed out reasonably to Rosa, before sending his own meaningful look to her. “I’m sure you remember, it’s easy to push your pain down when there’s a task or a crisis, it’s when the storm is over, that things bubble up to the surface.”

Rosa smiled finally, her armor of blood-red lipstick, firmly in place between them. “I do remember. Between Papi and Maria, I ate a lot of churro pancakes and made a lot of art to keep myself from losing it even more. So what’s the plan with your boy, and for you for that matter?”

“I’m fostering pit bull rescues and working on this house, between that and going to work, I am staying busy.” Alex avoided the question about Michael, as the man in question, strode out of the house with Beckett at his heels on a leash. His curls were damp from a quick, sloppy face wash and his shirt was clean, while he held one of Alex’s ice packs pressed against his eye. All encouraging signs that Michael was taking care of himself.

Acetone would have increased the healing process but that challenged Michael’s work toward sobriety.

Michael pulled the ice pack away from his face before leaning in to give Alex a quick, cold peck on the mouth and then handed over the leash. Beckett scooted warily around Rosa before pressing up against Alex’s side with a happy wiggle of his body. “Someone was a good boy while he was left alone and didn’t get into the trash…”

“Good boy!” Alex echoed proudly, smiling for the first time that day as he reached down to rub the now-excited dog. Beckett clearly knew the word ‘good’ and he pressed hard against Alex’s left leg in shivering ecstasy. It was actually not that far from how Michael acted after praise, not that he would ever say that out loud.

“He already got a treat, so don’t let him pull that con on you, Alex.” Michael patted his pockets for his keys, before resetting the ice against his face. “All right, Beck, don’t knock Alex over, we talked about that-”

“ _Fostering_ a dog, huh,” Rosa commented blandly before snapping her fingers to gesture to the car. “Hate to break this up, but we gotta jet before the good cookies and the non-burned coffee are gone. Us addicts aren’t known for moderation, am I right Mikey?”

The truly exasperated look on Michael’s face at hearing Liz’s nickname on Rosa’s lips brought a quiet snicker from Alex, that he immediately swallowed at Michael’s quick look of betrayal. 

He held the leash a little tighter, as Beckett sprang to follow Michael as he headed to Rosa’s car. After a moment, the dog settled down and watched with Alex as the two of them backed out of the driveway in Rosa’s aged Ford, only letting out a soft whine of disappointment. 

“Me too, buddy, but he’ll be back soon and things will be better.” Alex sighed, feeling the fatigue from his restless night worrying about Michael set in as he glanced at his watch. 

It was just over twelve hours since Alex had disappeared to the men’s room at the Wild Pony, and had returned to find Michael struggling against the bouncer’s hold, blood streaming from his mouth while yelling at Jake Frederick, the son of the newly elected mayor and brother to the deceased Jasmine. The trappings of the elected office had clearly gone to the head of the younger Frederick, who had insisted on calling the Sheriff’s office to have Michael charged for assault. Michael hadn’t won any favors accusing the son of being a racist homophobic prick in front of witnesses or struggling with the responding officer after an-off balance scuffle between Alex, hopelessly trying to calm tempers, and the still-offended Jake Frederick, had resulted in a fall. 

There was a moment of pause before Alex had hit the floor that had told him that Michael had used his telekinesis to slow his descent and cushion the impact. Michael’s blatant disregard for his own safety and secrecy had provoked Alex’s temper from annoyance at the descent into bar fighting into outright fury for his recklessness.

_“What the fuck is wrong with you?!”_

Words that had escaped Alex’s mouth in the moment that he couldn’t take back and had never led anywhere good with Michael. Something he recognized as a joint trigger with his own brain always quick to supply the belittling answers and yet, he said them. Watching Michael’s eyes grow wounded and then dark with a twist of resigned acknowledgement had been a sobering shock for Alex.

The brief interval where Alex had thought he could keep Michael safe from further consequences had expired quietly under the blue and white lights in front of the Wild Pony. Watching Michael slide into meek compliance, and duck his head out of habit into the back of the Chaves County cruiser, clearly following an ingrained muscle memory from the past, had been unpleasant for Alex to say the least.

Unpleasant but motivating.

Drawing on his status as second in command of the Roswell base, Alex had called the mayor, after Sheriff Valenti had reluctantly admitted she couldn’t release Michael if the mayor’s son insisted on filing charges. Trading on the story of his son pushing a disabled Iraq veteran to the ground to negotiate the dropped charges had left a briefly bitter taste in Alex’s mouth, but he had said and done worse when it came to protecting Michael in the past.

It had been a hell of a way to end his evening considering how well the night had begun. The two of them celebrating with Isobel, Max and Liz the more or less complete recovery of Max’s memory. It had meant that Michael could finally move into the new house, instead of straddling between Alex’s and his trailer that was now parked at Max’s. Isobel had joked it meant that they could finally get rid of the Airstream, and Alex, high on the prospect of having Michael forever, had agreed with her even as Michael had stayed quiet. Was that the spark that had led to later?

Or did the line of black powder connected to the explosion at the Wild Pony stretch further back than that comment?

Rosa was right, Michael had been tightly wound for weeks even as Max had regained more and more independence and memory of his life. Alex thought back to the night’s events with a different eye, hoping to spot the tipping point. The shared family celebration had relocated to the Wild Pony. Isobel eventually had disappeared after a phone call from a Santa Fe number, and then Max had swept away with Liz to the dance floor, before shuffling out the backdoor with a different sort of dancing clearly in mind. The next stop after the Wild Pony was supposed to have been a romantic drive out the desert. 

Alex watched as Beckett sniffed through the stalks of early sprouted asters and slipped his hand into his hoodie pocket to rub his thumb over the seam of the velvet ring box. 

“He’ll be home soon, and things will be better,” Alex repeated to Beckett softly. There were two spots where the velvet was nearly bare from holding onto the box and biding his time for that moment. “It’s just a matter of being patient.”

He could wait.

***

Alex heard the sound of his back patio door close quietly and from the excited huff of Beckett moving to greet the person, he knew Michael was home. He kept his eyes closed under his sunglasses as he laid out under the warm June sun. A faint dampness of sweat beaded on his chest, slipping down to meet the waistband of his short black swim trunks. His crutch rested next to his chair with only a thin sock covering the surgical scars of his right limb out of caution from sun damage.

There was the dragging scratch sound of the chair next to him being moved closer, then came the soft exhale of Michael sitting down. 

For a long moment he listened to the calls of the rock wrens battling for territory with the aggressive pair of blue jays that had taken over the pine tree in the corner of the yard. The dark red wash of light against his closed lids moved into hypnotizing patterns as he enjoyed the comforting buzz of life teeming outside mixing in with the renewed scent of rain.

He waited patiently, still one of his greatest skills learned from combat abroad and was rewarded by Michael clearing his throat roughly. “I know what you’re doing.”

Alex hummed in the back of his throat in both acknowledgment and question, but kept his back flat on his lounge chair with a slight stretch upward with his shoulder blades pulling his stomach muscles tight. This time it wasn’t a throat clearing that was audible, but the rough gulp of air from Michael.

Knowing where a weakness was was another skill learned in uniform.

“This is not fair and you know that.”

Blindly Alex stretched his hand toward Michael, palm up in invitation. He had also learned the value of a strategic yield. “I know, but it’s working, isn’t it?”

There was no hesitation in Michael’s touch, clasping his hand and threading his fingers together. The deep penetrating heat of the New Mexico sky had warmed Alex’s grip to something in the neighborhood of normal for Michael’s species. Matched in temperature, matched in touch, still though, they were one step out of sync and had been for a while.

“You missed your calling staying in cyber security, they could have used your talents in interrogation.”

Alex turned, opening his eyes with his sunglasses slipping down his nose, “Somehow I think my talents are uniquely suited to you, and not to a captured insurgent.” That was true even outside the joke between them, while he knew he had garnered admiring glances in the past, no one looked at him quite like Michael did. “Does that mean you’re ready to talk?”

Michael slanted a half smile before dipping his gaze down Alex’s bare chest, shining with perspiration then let his eyes linger on the hem of his short black trunks with a hungry expression, “You sure you want to talk looking like that?”

The temptation was always there, to bury themselves in touch and let the words stay unuttered. It was even more enticing when Alex thought about Michael’s alien abilities. The options for a relationship shorthand were there at last, from sharing a risky bond print to having Michael bring him into the mindspace. Though in one way, being reduced to using the mundane tools like cell phones to communicate with over the last four months, was probably the best thing that could have happened to them. 

Words were still not the first language they reached for with each other.

“Michael.”

The quiet rebuke of his name curbed Michael’s attempt at distraction through seduction, subduing the playful teasing back into the seriousness of the matter at hand. The dancing pachyderm of Michael’s arrest hovered between them.

He looked away from Alex and dropped his hand to rake it through his curls. “Okay,” he acknowledged, licking his lips before he winced as his tongue caught on the edge of the damage from his altercation at the Wild Pony. The bright bloom of fresh blood on the cut seemed to buoy Michael’s resolve. “All right, we should talk.” 

Flickering his eyes from the gash to the now impressively dark eye, Alex tucked his sunglasses back down, his own resolve faltering, as always, to the sight of bruised skin. While he wasn’t fond of seeing the ravages of war with the cinematically blown off limbs and CGI headshots, he handled it far better than the more pedestrian wounds left by the fists and hands of violent men. He took a deep settling breath and hid his closed eyes behind the mirrored shades.

The whisper of fibers rustling brought his attention abruptly back to Michael, who tossed his shed t-shirt onto the patio table. There were no marks from last night on the golden skin of his chest, but instead there was the much more distracting sight of sparse dark chest hair trailing down to Michael’s large, silver fuck-you buckle. Wide, tooled saddle-brown leather snaked around his waist, with a torn belt loop, waving in a loose frayed flag of danger. 

Michael raised his eyebrows purposefully at Alex, and started to stand with his hands on his waistband of his jeans, “Well, if we’re gonna talk, you can get a little taste of your own medicine here-”

“Wait, the neighbors-” Alex blurted out automatically.

“Are too far away, behind that privacy wall and plus modesty is a human concept, and I never much cared for it myself-” Michael’s long, clever fingers worked the belt open, dropping his jeans easily, revealing a pair of no-nonsense gray briefs. He folded his jeans to lay next to his shirt, before flopping on the lounger next to Alex’s. “There, something for you to look at instead of my face.”

The curse and delight of someone knowing him for over ten years, there wasn’t a reaction that Michael missed with his sharp eyes and encyclopedic recall. It was why language often took a backseat, finishing last on the podium at times. Alex took the olive branch gratefully, and offered his own, sliding his sunglasses up over his head. “I suppose fair is fair.”

“It’s either this, or I guess getting my phone and calling you from the house,” Michael extended his hand this time in an offer to Alex. “I kinda always knew I don’t like it when you’re not lookin’ at me, and the four months of telephone proved that beyond a shadow o’ a doubt.”

He opened his mouth to apologize reflexively before the squeeze of Michael’s hand and the memory from this morning stopped Alex. Four days into June and he’d already used one, Alex reminded himself. Switching tracks, he squeezed Michael’s hand back in recognition for the new visual distraction. “I don’t look away, and neither do you, right?”

It was a gamble to invoke those words, offered up in the past at differing crossroads where the yawning gap between love and understanding what it meant had stretched gossamer thin. However like an open palm proffered, Michael accepted them with a hungry grasp and brought their joined hands up to his lips to press a kiss against Alex’s.

“Right,” Michael took a deep breath and dangled his free hand down to find Beckett, who was curled up in the shade of his chair. Scratching the pit bull’s head gently, he started with slow, careful words, “About last night. With the fight.”

From the pointed sneer of Michael’s adversary and then general trading of insults between them, Alex guessed the altercation had started over a comment on their relationship. 

Safety was still an illusion, even at the Wild Pony with its proud reputation of being the only minority run local watering hole. Typical Roswell, proud of their steps toward recognizing people of color in the office of law enforcement, but still two steps behind when it came to acceptance of their queer fellow citizens. 

He was not unfamiliar of the mental calculus he always tallied whenever he allowed himself to be openly queer in public and how often he decided the risk was too high. The investigation into Michael had shoved him five steps forward in his comfort level and visibility. This time, whatever the value his arithmetic regarding his own safety came up with, Michael’s safety was the positive multiplier and won out when it came time to pick where he wanted to live.

Driving through neighborhoods with a realtor, he had made careful note of political signs and bumper stickers decorating lawns and adorning vehicles. Alex had settled on this house, on this street, for the dual reason of both being nearer to Max’s house and for the visible placard in the window across the street proclaiming in English, Spanish and Arabic that immigrants were welcome with a casual rainbow sticker. 

It was odd to be thankful that the country after the 2016 election had changed in this small positive way, with more people shedding the polite silence of party affiliation.

Alex kept his gaze on how Beckett licked at Michael’s fingertips eagerly, and pushed down the next reflexive apology on his tongue. That came easier, because he didn’t really want to apologize for being with Michael. “This town loves its cliches, right down to the bigots.”

“And you were right earlier, I should have let it go. Just let Maria ban the guy and call it a night.”

“But you didn’t.”

“Nope,” Michael drawled out, letting his lips smack together at the end of the word. He squinted in the sunlight and shifted on the lounger, stretching his toes down before sighing again. “I want to explain what I was thinkin’ when I hit that guy, but I don’t know how to do it without it coming out wrong.”

The flex and shift of Michael’s legs kept his attention on the present, concentrating on that eternal attraction to Michael that raised Alex’s pulse for acceptable reasons, instead of from the old dread of the unknown. “What if I say what I’m thinking, then you say what you’re afraid of and we both agree not to take it personally?”

“Okay, but you first then,” Michael smirked weakly, “since it was your idea.”

Therapy had given Alex the tools to step off into the unknown here, but he would never fully enjoy it. Knowing just how deep Michael’s love for him was gave him the courage to go first in this conversational trust fall. 

“I noticed you have been unhappy and I thought it was about Max, back when he was still struggling. But now your brother is better, but you’re not. You’re still unhappy and I’m worried it’s because you’re having second thoughts about this.” As soon as the words were out, Alex felt lighter and breathless, even as Michael squeezed his hand again in reassurance. “Are we going to last if we don’t have some disaster keeping us together? And I feel like I might have moved too fast for you, buying this house, and then Isobel and I talking about selling your Airstream last night triggered something. It’s stupid because the crisis with Max is over, I have everything under control in Roswell but I still can’t relax and trust that it will last.”

The birds quarrelling over possession of the pine tree suddenly sounded louder and raucous.

The buzz of gnats nearby prickled. 

It was sweat that stung his eyes, just sweat, even as the sunlight took on a harsher glare.

It was the smooth-rough-wet texture that registered on Alex’s hand, as he glanced down to see Beckett seated between them, looking upward in expectation and licking at their joined hands. 

Michael smiled at him, once Alex was able to meet his eyes with a swift glimpse to check in after that admission. “Okay, my turn, I hit that guy because he was a little right about me. Not about who I love or how I do it, but about being a loser. I’ve got nothin’ to be proud of, no fancy career, no formal education, and I struggle to see how I can contribute to our life feeling like that. The last time I had somethin’ that was meaningful, was the work on my ship. And I miss having that. I want to finish my work and I’m worried about how you’ll react.”

“You want to go back to building your ship?”

“I mean, just to see if I can, I’m not going anywhere without a twenty billion dollar budget,” Michael answered a little anxiously then he moved off his lounger to slide closer to Alex. The solid teak chair held their weight easily as Alex shifted over on his side, making room for Michael. “And it goes without saying, I am not going anywhere without you.” 

Now Alex smiled and huffed a quiet laugh, as he let Michael curl against him. Their skin slick and damp from the heat, but he paid the discomfort no mind. The heavy coil he carried inside since he was a wary child, had once been wrapped so tightly around him that he could scarcely breathe. While music softened the wefts, loosening the trusses, nothing worked as well as meeting Michael. From the first touch, Michael had had the unique ability to dissolve the trappings that Alex struggled against. 

After the shed, Alex knew the wraps of fear and hopelessness had fit differently around him in the intervening years. Spooling the old pain and attempts at self-protection around a changed heart had left ragged and uneven crosshatches, and it was never as tight, never fit as evenly as from before he met Michael. 

Drinking in the comfort of Michael’s solid presence, Alex’s mouth twisted with a shade of self-deprecation, “Well, I think I proved I might need to hear that, otherwise-.”

“No, I get it and I share that same feeling you have, where it’s hard to enjoy the calm, because it feels like you’re just in the eye of a storm.” He turned his face into Alex’s hand, as he felt the whisper-light touch on his bruised eye. “Sometimes I think I’m the storm and I feel this void inside, that I’ve filled with everything from booze and acetone, to sex and the bar fights. The worst part is when I use people to fill it. Throwin’ myself into savin’ first Iz, then Max, tryin’ to be useful to someone so they want me to stick around.”

“And me?”

Michael tucked the injured side of his face into Alex’s collarbone, and slipped his left leg between Alex’s to rub the flat of his foot along Alex’s foot. “No,” he breathed softly, “and also yes. I know you want me around. But I want to feel like I’ve earned that.”

He trailed his finger down the knobs of Michael’s spine, slipping and sliding along the peaks of damp, soft skin. Warmth bloomed from the pads of Alex’s fingerprints to the tips of his left toes entirely unrelated to the blazing early summer sun as he stroked the expanse of burnish tan skin. Alex lowered his voice to Michael’s ear, as Michael shivered under the touch. “I want to keep you forever, you don’t have to do anything but want that too.”

“Of course I want that, and fuck, you’re gettin’ really good at that,” Michael complained without meaning it, as Alex’s fingertip crept under the elastic waistband of his briefs. 

Alex hummed in question, as he eased his hand down under the clinging cotton to cup the round swell of Michael’s rear. Curling his fingers, he dipped to brush lightly against Michael’s hole. He could feel Michael twitch under the questing contact, shifting his hardening erection against Alex’s hip. “This? Think we’ve always been good at _this_.”

“I meant talkin’, tellin’ me what you want, but yeah this too.” 

Smiling smugly at Michael’s admission, Alex let his finger rub more firmly against the edges of the furled skin, letting the perspiration ease the way. 

“Your neighbors-” 

“They’re _our_ neighbors, and don’t worry, you were right earlier, they can’t see us,” Alex replied smoothly, keeping his tone conversational as he let Michael enjoy the slow penetration of his finger. It was an effort, with how Michael kept eagerly pressing back and grinding forward. The burn of minimal prep was something Alex didn’t indulge in often with Michael. “It was the second thing I did after I moved in, marked the sight lines and scouted vantage spots. Short of a drone, this is private.”

“Ah so that protest was just for show?”

“Mmmm, a little bit. We needed to talk and you are a constant challenge to my control fully clothed.”

“Guess we’re done talking?”

“Nah, still got plenty to say,” Alex teased, pressing his finger a fraction deeper. “Just not with words.”

Michael’s breath hitched, before he turned his attention to muffling his moan in Alex’s throat. His lips found Alex’s heartbeat with his lips, the thudding beat steady and sure, so close to the surface where Michael’s mouth hovered just above. Alex felt the soft open mouthed kiss against his pulse before Michael moved upward to lick lightly on the corner of his jaw, still dark with his missed morning ablutions.

Careful of the cut on Michael’s mouth, he dipped his down to meet the line of searching kisses with his own lips. Rubbing one finger shallowly inside Michael as Alex kept their kiss light and delicate sparked the most deliciously frustrated groan from him. In the next moment, Michael moved his leg over to properly straddle Alex, leaning back against Alex’s hold. 

“What was the first thing?”

“Mmmm?”

Michael interrupted the teasing with a raised eyebrow, “What was the first thing you did after moving in?”

“Ah,” Alex attempted to focus on the previous train of thought. The ring box hidden in the case of his back up prosthesis came immediately to mind. Finding a home for them, buying the ring to seal the promise, and then finally ensuring safety for them both. A new order of a very old set of needs. However instead of admitting that, Alex turned the subject toward the obvious. “I might have stashed lube everywhere I could think of in the house.”

“Really? That was a couple of months ago, and I wasn’t- I mean I couldn’t-” Michael broke off, blinking in surprise at the answer. “Because of Max.”

He stilled his finger inside of Michael, pausing at the response. “I have been planning for _our_ future for a while, and yeah, that included when you were helping Max.” Alex tilted his head watching the emotions rapid-fire flicker in Michael’s eyes catching that bewildered confusion warring with an ancient pain rooted in feeling unworthy. “Max was the ultimate cockblock while you were using the handprint to help him remember and honestly, I hope you never let him forget it. He got in the way of a lot of my plans, but that’s over, right?”

“Right,” Michael echoed softly and then leaned forward to kiss Alex again, bringing his lower lip between his teeth with a soft nip. He moaned as Alex picked up his ministrations again, and went dark-eyed in need. “What’s your, ah, plan now?”

“Now,” Alex breathed, teasing a second fingertip against Michael’s rim, “now I want you to get the lube out of the deck box so I can have you right here.”

“Right here?”

“Yeah, right out in the open, with just God looking down on how gorgeous you are when you’re riding my dick.” It felt unbelievably brave and reckless to say, but Alex was learning to loosen up on the tight control his fear dictated. The rebellion of it, picking Michael up from jail after trading blows with the mayor’s homophobic kid and then having Michael in the open air of that same mayor’s town. Poetic justice.

It was a motivation that Alex was going to keep quiet for fear of encouraging any future altercations from Michael. But privately, in this safe corner of their home, he could enjoy the small act of resistance. 

After a moment Michael turned his head toward the deck box, and flipped open the heavy lid with just a crease of his brow in concentration. The previously stashed tube of lubricant floated into Alex’s free hand, slapping lightly against his palm. Then it was just a question of Alex letting Michael scramble out of his grey briefs, swallowing the brief noise of protest with a kiss when he removed his fingers from Michael. 

Rubbing his palms along Michael’s thighs, Alex enjoyed the view of corded muscle on Michael’s torso as he balanced himself over Alex’s lap in the sturdy teak lounger. The slight shift of the chair on the patio scratched out a discordant note as they each eagerly sought a comfortable position. 

With the obvious tent of Alex’s black trunks, Michael was especially careful in loosening the drawstrings. His longer clever fingers hooked into the elastic, lowering the band over Alex’s erection with a deft touch until Alex was left wearing nothing but the light protective sock over his residual limb. 

“Good,” Alex murmured low in his throat, watching the praise send a satisfied shudder over Michael. He followed the words with his lips, capturing Michael’s half-gasp with a firm kiss. “I don’t think I have the leverage or trust that I won’t drop you to do this, so I want you to do all the work, okay?”

“All?” Michael echoed. 

Using his words to tell Michael what he wanted out of their relationship came only fractionally easier than making this admission of vulnerability but Alex did it. Popping the flip cap of the lube open as he spoke, “Hmm, maybe not all of the work.” Alex admitted, slicking his thumb as Michael quivered above him in anticipation. “I know how you like to take shortcuts,” he paused, pushing the wide spread of his thumb inside Michael, “in getting your hole ready for me, so I can do this.” Michael moaned in response as Alex teased the tip of his other thumb against his tight rim. “But then it’s up to you, okay?”

“Up to me,” Michael repeated, dazed and almost drunk at the words..

“Yes, once I have you open enough, you’re going to take my dick and put it inside you.” 

This time Michael’s eyelashes dipped with a shade of coquette at Alex’s coarse instruction. “All of it?”

“All of it. If you can,” Alex confirmed with a knowing chuckle.

“You’re going to kill me.”

“Ah, that’s nice for my ego to hear.” 

Michael sputtered in laughter at Alex’s smug quip, before another moan ripped from his throat as Alex stretched his two fingers wide inside him, then slipped another finger inside. His balance slipped for a second as he held himself up over Alex, catching himself by burying his mouth into the hollow of Alex’s collarbone.

“How’s that feel,” Alex asked, with a trace of effort to keep his voice conversationally light. He curled his fingers upward, drinking in the light tremor in Michael’s body as his breath hitched at the brush Alex made against his prostate. “I gave you two, and you always want more, don’t you?”

Michael nodded and answered breathlessly, “I do. More, it feels so good.”

Alex lifted his head up to kiss the steady-throbbing pulse point in Michael’s neck, before biting lightly on the cord of muscle. “You always want to rush this part, but I know you need it.”

“I do, I need it.”

“Always want to give you what you need, Michael.” Alex could feel the clench of Michael around his three fingers, as he stroked downward again to rub at his prostate. “So sensitive, and still so tight, you gotta open up more for me.”

“Tryin’ to, but might,” Michael inhaled sharply, moving against Alex’s touch deliberately, “you might just need to use your cock though-”

“Mmm, and just split you open? That's what you want?”

“Fuck,” Michael whimpered before he nodded, the flush of the hot sun and arousal painting him in shades of red and pink with no sign of which it was. “Please, now, just do it, do it bare-”

Clicking open the tube of lubricant one-handed, Alex squeezed another healthy amount on his hand to slick himself. He met Michael’s dark gaze, using the moment to ground himself to press back his own needs. The sweat-damp curls dropped into Michael’s face as he maintained his balance over Alex. The bead of perspiration slipped down his forehead, falling into a rivulet that might have been a tear track originally. Alex held his cock firm with one hand, working to keep his touch as dispassionate as he could on himself before he placed his other hand on the curve of Michael’s hip to guide him down. 

They both gasped as the head of Alex’s cock bumped, and then pressed inside of Michael. He tightened his hand on Michael’s hip, halting the impatient thrust down that Michael attempted at the first feeling of being entered. 

“Ah, wait, let me… let me inside.” Moving now to hold onto Michael’s hips fully with both hands, he kept full control of the slow pace of penetration. Obedient as always to an immobile grip, Michael stilled under the broad-palmed hold, letting Alex move him as he pleased onto his cock.

Once he felt himself bottom out inside Michael, Alex lifted his hands from Michael’s hips, leaving a line of fading white fingertips flushing red again with renewed blood. He could feel every minute twitch of muscle surrounding his cock as Michael breathed through the breach with open mouthed gulps of air. His mouth lifted a heavy-lidded smirk of satisfaction to Michael, feeling the release of tension as Michael adjusted to him. “Good, you took me so well, but now it’s up to you. You ready? Show me what you like?”

“Fuckin’ finally, you sadist-” Michael’s protest was swallowed by Alex as he leaned upward to find Michael with another kiss. Whatever words he had for Alex were gone, Michael’s thoughts slow to fire behind those usually so-sharp eyes. Instead he tipped his head back from Alex’s, and started lifting himself up and then driving himself downward with impatience. 

Watching Michael take his pleasure so openly and greedily, robbed Alex of speech as well. Tracing his eyes down Michael’s well-made line of muscle and slender wrap of ligaments drew his thoughts to the universe. The decisions of cells and atoms to dance together in such a way that Michael was made, so entirely perfect for Alex gave him a sense of certainty. There was a benign higher power at work. There had to be, to bend the universe in such a way that this was even possible in the first place after a 1947 spaceship crash. 

Cosmic was what Michael always said. 

It certainly wasn’t random.

“God, you feel so good,” Michael replied with a hiss of need. He shifted his knees, and placed his hand on Alex’s chest to anchor himself. It sparked the memory of the handprint, causing Alex to bite his lower lip in response. They both knew it wasn't an option until Alex’s next rotation of leave arrived, but it still brought its own shiver of anticipation.

Though this, feeling the connection to Michael at the physical, most intimate act, would always be Alex’s favorite medium to be known through with him. It was truly their first language with each other. They had started as bumbling excited teenagers, satisfied with handjobs, and had moved to more practiced acts as adults, learning how to find pleasure with their bodies with a gentle forgiving touch even as they were less absolving of the other with words. 

Michael kept his movements up, building in the rhythm as Alex brought his hands back to his hips to hold him steady. His fingernails caught and drew light lines down Michael’s back as he struggled to hold his orgasm back. 

The punch of low gasps meant Michael was just as close as Alex was as he ground down against Alex, pursuing his own release. “Can you come from this, just this?” Alex smoothed his palms on the faint scored lines he left on his tanned skin. “Just my cock inside you. You look so good, so good like this, like you’re just made to be fucked full-”

Michael cursed suddenly, as he came in thick, pulses between them tripping over the precipice. “Ohfuck, you bastard-” he choked out, halfway to laughing and sobbing at the same time as he smeared his seed on Alex’s belly. 

The thrill of seeing Michael unravel propelled Alex further to the edge. He took back control from Michael, bending his back to thrust upward, and fucking Michael roughly through his orgasm. Michael made a soft, shocked sound at the brush of hyper-sensitivity, but urged Alex on with unfocused counter thrusts, until Alex’s pleasure caught up and he came inside Michael. No barriers, shooting bare was its own thrill for them both. 

Michael leaned down, catching Alex’s open mouth gasp with his lips and kissed him with a fierce hunger that matched the furious movements of their bodies rocking together. Gradually he gentled the kiss, shifting from a forceful stroke of his tongue to a slow, lazy lipped bite on Alex’s mouth. Trading ragged breaths, they held onto each other through the aftershocks of sensation. The bright copper-spark taste on Alex’s lips, finally brought his attention back to the present, as he broke the kiss to see Michael’s half-closed cut had broken open and was now bleeding freely again. 

A brilliant itch ignited on his tongue as he licked the stray drop of Michael’s blood away. It was a reminder that while he looked like and felt like and certainly fucked just like a human, Michael was fully alien under his skin. He would never tell Michael this, but the sharp, prickly electric-taste of his blood, and to a lesser extent his come, reminded Alex he needed to traverse with care and protect him. The benign outside protected the soft, vulnerable insides, and he needed to be like the spines on a flowering cactus, or the wicked prongs of a lionfish for Michael.

As he worked to catch his breath again, Michael flung his discarded shirt toward them with his telekinesis to first mop off Alex’s chest before chasing away the fresh bead of blood from his mouth.

“You’re going to kill me one day, Alex.” Michael shook his head with admiration, making no move to dislodge Alex from inside him. Alex hummed a response, grinning unrepentantly at him instead. Michael flexed and tightened his muscles around Alex purposefully, driving away the smugness as Alex erupted in giggles from the tickling sensation of overstimulation. “Payback for that mouth of yours-”

“Guess all that phone sex we had paid off,” Alex observed as he choked down another laugh and took the discarded shirt to wipe his hands clean. Their pulses seemed to match in beat as they calmed down together. The intensity of the sex always brought out a touch-hungry greed in both of them, Alex caught himself running his hands up and down Michael’s thighs as he softened inside Michael slowly. “Is that why you called me a bastard?”

“You already have the best cock, now you’ve got the dirtiest mouth. I’m fucking ruined for anyone else.” 

“You don’t sound that upset about it.”

“I’m not.” With a soft sigh, Michael finally moved, letting Alex’s cock slip out of him. He collapsed next to him on the lounger after a brief scrub with his shirt to clean up. Already the blood was starting to clot on his cut lip as he tucked the bruised part of his face into Alex’s neck again, “I know what you said before, about how all I have to do is want this too.”

“Yes, it’s true. You don’t have to earn this, or earn me.”

“We’re about to be together without any crisis looming over us and what you said about disaster being the tie,” Michael paused, his hand trailing over Alex’s side, taking care to trace with his fingertip where the handprint was months ago. “We talked about that at N.A. today. About how if all you know is chaos, you seek it out, ‘cause it’s comfortable. It made me think about last night, about whether that was what I was doing on some level. Wrecking things because it’s what I know, letting you fix things, ‘cause that’s what you do....”

Alex echoed Michael’s sigh as he shifted on the lounger to press more of Michael up against him. Under the bright blue sky Alex felt oddly peaceful with both of them covered only in sweat and come, and the scent of rain hanging heavy over them. The ever-present voice that frequently pushed him to cover up, to walk away, to find safe cover was still and quiet. 

While that voice was quiet for now, he knew the spectre Michael mentioned. “You’re not wrong. You and I are vulnerable to that trap with the way we were both raised.”

Michael glanced up to meet Alex’s solemn expression with interest. 

“Growing up,” Alex began softly, as he worked to find a place of emotional distance from the subject of his childhood. Michael watched his face for another moment, before turning to place a kiss over Alex’s heart. Reassurance was always on offer from Michael. “My mom was always trying to make things better when my dad was upset. Rushing in to try and defuse his temper before he exploded, by pouring him a drink or having dinner ready, until she couldn’t take it anymore and she left. On some level, I’m always going to want to be a problem solver, because that’s what I know. I’m also going to feel responsible for everything that happens, and if something is outside my control, I’m probably going to be a dick about it.”

“Like when I got arrested?”

“Like when you got arrested and when you used your powers to cushion my fall.”

“Ah,” Michael hummed in acknowledgment as Alex reached up to cover his hand, stilling it over his heart. “I don’t think anyone noticed. That loud mouth Frederick kid was making too much of a scene.”

“I would tell you to let me hit the ground next time, but I somehow doubt I can convince you to do that.” Alex craned his head to look at Michael and clearly read his unrepentant expression with a nod. “Thought so. One thing therapy has taught me is that when I get angry, it’s because I’m reacting to fear. But if I tell you all the things I’m afraid of and if you tell me the things you’re afraid, maybe we can work it out?”

“‘That simple?” 

“It can be that simple. Love in a lot of ways is the easy part, it’s everything else that is the choice. If you choose this every day, Michael, choose me, there’s nothing that can pull us apart.” Alex moved again, placing his right hip and thigh to drape over Michael’s side, tugging him closer into the cradle of his embrace. “‘Cause I’m right here, choosing you too.”

Before Michael could respond, he let out a startled laugh instead in Alex’s ear. He squirmed forward and fell more solidly onto Alex’s chest. Peering over Michael’s shoulder at them both, was the curious dark-eyed face of Beckett. The judgmental look from the dog, who had scrambled onto the now overcrowded lounge chair, broke the atmosphere. 

“Guess someone felt left out,” Michael huffed with an eye roll, mirroring Alex’s fond look as he stroked the silky ears of their pitbull. It was with a mild moue of discomfort at their sticky skin that he pulled away and swung his legs down from the chair to the bare stone patio. Pulling on his discarded briefs, he snagged Alex’s trunks to toss his way and then slung the rest of his crumpled clothes over his shoulder, “Come on, Becks, I got the message, it’s dinner time for hungry pups, isn’t it?” And then to Alex, he directed, “My turn to cook tonight right, sweetheart’?”

“Considering you have missed approximately two months of ‘turns’, that’s a yes.”

“I would argue about whether that was my fault, but you kinda fucked all the fight out of me.”

Alex rolled his eyes at that unlikely event, and braced his hands on the lounger to start the process of getting upright. He shifted his hips over to the side of the chair and fished his left foot through the leghole of his trunks before bending to tug them up over knees to his thighs. An unseen force then took over, tugging upward as he started to inch them up his hips. Michael watched from the doorway, his brow wrinkled as he carefully assisted Alex’s efforts. 

For all the conversations they had had in the past, both painful and frivolous, they had never discussed Michael’s use of his power with Alex. It was always the precise amount of assistance or restraint, silently offered in unnegotiated harmony. He couldn’t stop from smiling at Michael as he felt him let go once Alex was redressed. There was no discernable guidance once Alex had his crutch in hand, because it was understood that Alex didn’t need it. Michael was right so often that he couldn’t help but wonder if there was a subconscious telepathic cheat at play.

Maybe it was just another sign that they were meant to be. The cosmic connection or the benign higher power at work. Alex followed the sounds of the at-home clatter marking dinner prep coming from the kitchen that were peppered with eager yips from Beckett, and once again thought about the ring box.

The right time was just around the corner.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I was going to wait and post both halves of my epilogue together, but things have been rough for me personally, and it's not looking to improve anytime soon. The continuing saga of 2020 for so many of us.
> 
> Chapter 24 is half done and in progress. Thank you all for your continued support and patience and love. ❤️❤️❤️


	24. Chapter 24

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue the conclusion. 
> 
> Maura has created two gorgeous gifsets for this story: 
> 
> [It's not dna or stardust or carbon atoms... ](https://darlingnotso.tumblr.com/post/628099508650278912)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I'm sorry for the length. I thought about splitting it one more time for accessibility but I ran into my OCD and I like even numbers. 
> 
> Second of all, warnings for some NSFW content in the middle, some flashbacks about child neglect, and Jesse Manes.

“So I have a question for you, and I promise, whatever your answer is, it will be fine.”

Michael poked his head out from the walk-in closet at Alex’s too-casual tone, where he was currently unpacking more of his clothes. The Airstream was slowly getting emptied out again, finally facing retirement after its latest and hopefully last use as Michael’s home during ‘Max Watch’ as Kyle had dubbed it. The subject of selling it had been permanently dropped by Alex, after he checked into the neighborhood covenants regarding non-permanent dwellings. 

While on some level Maria was absolutely correct, that a home could be a person, they still had to address the mundane needs in the meantime. Rather quickly Alex came to the realization that the cabin didn’t fit with his life anymore or his future with Michael, and he had set out to find a place that did. It was a little bit of a shock to realize that Michael was still a few steps behind him in coming to that conclusion. What seemed like an elegant two-prong solution to Alex, selling the Airstream since it was no longer used, having it provide a nest egg of money for Michael, was instead a buried claymore of insecurities ready to erupt.

The Airstream could stay next to the house until Michael personally decided to get rid of it, or forever if he couldn’t let go of it. 

Forever was fine with Alex.

“Is this a sex question?” Michael smirked, his voice deepening at the suggestion.

Stretching out on his yoga mat as he worked through his physical therapy stretches, Alex hid his amusement against the side of his leg. He could feel Michael’s eyes on his bare back, the tension of attraction building even as the stress of the day’s exertions fell away through his meditative movements. Keeping his breathing even as he moved from a floor stretch to balance on his hands, he held himself up off the mat and moved his right thigh outward. There was a muttered “fuck” from Michael as strain rippled down his core as he held the position through a five-count. “No, it’s not a sex question.”

“‘Cause if it is, I’m probably _up_ for almost anything. Except a threesome.”

“I’ll let Kyle know that’s a no-go then,” Alex laughed, ducking his head at the pair of wadded up socks that Michael threw at him, and then dropped back down to a seated position. “He’s going to be crushed, he thought you liked his cheekbones-” 

“Very funny. I know that you know that Isobel would kill us both for making a move on Kyle.” Michael fished the pair of socks up off the floor, still forever mindful of keeping the floor clear for Alex. He flopped down on the king sized bed next to a snoring Beckett, who gave a muffled grumpy whine at the brief disturbance, and settled in to watch the rest of Alex’s PT session. “I don’t know if she’s waiting for some mythical point of recovery to act or she wants to be sure he’s over Liz, but the day those two stop circling each other is the day I’m going to need a huge distraction or a meeting with Rosa.”

Alex took the moment to carefully smooth out the non-existent wrinkle in his compression shorts. “That’s actually what I wanted to talk about.”

“Kyle and Isobel?” Michael wrinkled his nose in response.

“No, no, about your drinking, or not-drinking actually.” Alex forced himself to look up and make eye contact with Michael. He expected to see the soft before-bed ease gone from Michael’s face as he broached the subject, but instead, he just saw patient openness reflected back at him. 

“I saw your beer in the fridge, and it’s okay, just because I am back here with you, doesn’t mean you have to change your habits. You can drink your fancy microbrew beer and I’ll be fine.”

“I just need to know how best to support you, Michael. I don’t want to assume, and um, be controlling of the situation.” His first instinct when he had learned Michael was working on his sobriety was to pour out all of the alcohol in his house, even when Alex knew the move-in date was still undefined. Conversational gaps sprouted as he worked out whether he could mention during their late night phone calls that he had gone to the Wild Pony to see Maria and shared a drink with Kyle as he worked to fill his evenings without Michael. 

Fully prepared to embrace complete sobriety himself, only a firm no-nonsense lecture from Rosa kept Alex from reenacting the Temperance movement. _“Ok there, don angustias, drinking or using is Michael’s decision, and he has to make it for himself. You cannot make it for him. So live your life, not his, sí?”_

“Rosa mentioned you had some concerns,” Michael smiled gently, knowing that ‘concern’ was several shades milder than what Alex had had originally. Paralyzing doubts. Obsessive thoughts. ‘Concerns’ was definitely the kindest label. “And I know better than to tell you not to worry.”

“Rosa called me a worrywort, so,” Alex shrugged and turned to work on his hip flexors, wiping his damp palms on his shorts. 

“You’re lucky, she calls me all number of names that aren’t as nice, but that’s part of the process or so she says. Step one is to admit you have a problem, step two was call me a pendejo, I think, if I go off of my experience,” Michael joked gently, before reverting back to the original subject, “my problem isn’t really the booze, the booze and the acetone are just a symptom of it, but stopping them; it helped me focus.” 

“I’m proud of you. You made the decision to stop drinking while you were still living with Max, kinda overnight, through some really challenging stuff. It couldn’t have been easy.” 

Michael smirked gently, “You don’t have to sugarcoat it. I was spiralling pretty hard during that time, and I know I made more than a few drunk calls to you.” 

More than a few calls was putting it kindly and they both knew it. 

***

_It was his habit to text Michael as soon as he was home from his duties on base to check in and more often than not his phone rang immediately. Even when there were voices in the background, like when Isobel was working with Max on their shared childhood, or when Liz was patiently recounting their friendship from elementary school, Michael called without fail._

_However this time, instead of hearing the clatter of household noise, Alex heard the long, slur of Michael deep into a bottle of either bourbon or acetone. It was evident from the first, bright greeting of “Heeey sweetheart” echoing up from the speaker._

_Closing his eyes for a brief summoning of patience, Alex pushed down his worry, “Hi Michael.” Then because he couldn’t resist, “You sound like you’ve been celebrating. Did you have a break through with Max?”_

_“Whass the opposite of celebrating? That’s what I’m doin’ now.”_

_“Are you okay?” Alex paused in the midst of removing his uniform, and looked down at the phone laying on the bed. The day had been long, but his leg was still on and the drive to Max’s would only be forty minutes. He made a mental note to call back his realtor to step up the search for a new house closer to Roswell city limits. “I can be there in-”_

_“No one’s hurt, les’ you count my pride,” Michael drawled bitterly, “hope you like datin’ jobless losers, ‘cause you are!”_

_It took a moment for Alex to parse through that revelation before it hit. “Sanders let you go?”_

_“Kinda, said he had to get someone else because I’ve been callin’ out while I babysit our alien savior. I don’t wanna owe him though, favors never go anywhere good. Told ‘im if he didn’t want the best mechanic in Roswell he could kiss my ass.”_

_Alex closed his eyes again and pinched the bridge of his nose. “Michael. He probably would have held your job for you, between Kyle and I, we could have come up for some reason for you missing work, like if you had a serious illness or needed inpatient treatment. Federally there’s something called Federal Medical Leave Act-”_

_“Yeah well, I’m a stupid jackass, Alex, so newsflash!”_

_“All right,” Alex finished unbuttoning his uniform shirt, keeping his voice low and calm. “You’re not stupid, don’t say that about yourself.” He shrugged off his shirt onto the hanger and sat on the bed, looking at his phone. He could still redress and drive to find Michael. He’d already crashed on Max’s tiny couch once, he could probably do it again. “It’s late,” and you are drunk went unsaid, as Alex continued, “We can talk about this more later, and if you want me to drop by Sanders-”_

_“No!” Michael’s sharp voice halted Alex’s. There was harsh breathing on the line instead, the quiet edge of a sob carrying over on the line. “I can’t let you do that, I can’t- I jus-”_

_“Okay, it’s okay, I won’t do anything you don’t want me to. I’m here, whatever you need or want.”_

_He was quiet again on the line. Alex kept moving through his nightly routines, listening to Michael breathe on the other end of the line. The call screen logging the connection, the seconds tallying their conversation was the more comfortable focus for him. He couldn’t let himself linger on the worry and helpless feeling that had slid down his throat, taking up residence in his chest with the occasional kick to his stomach._

_“Remember the meth heads?” Michael began, changing the subject, but at the same time not. “Max and I worked through my memory of acetone. I was trying to just show him the memory of when we were 11 and met up again, but he kinda knocked me back to when I was eight and my foster mom got mad- Well, she always had money for her manicure and her habit, but making sure there was milk for cereal,” he stopped, and offered another bitter laugh to Alex, “that was a tall fucking order. I wanted breakfast and she was painting her nails, so to shut me up, she stuffed the cotton balls, soaked in acetone in my mouth.”_

_“Michael,” Alex sat down on the bed abruptly, covering his mouth in horror._

_“No more headache from being hungry, so one problem solved,” he joked caustically with a snort. “So that was my day, on top of Sanders letting me go. How was your day?”_

_“Michael,” he tried again, clearing the block from his throat. Commenting on how Michael didn’t deserve that treatment from anyone, let alone a guardian would probably fall on deaf ears. He was sadly well acquainted with the type of armor they both wore when it came to expressions of sympathy. The Gordian knot of trauma, he had to tease at the edges. With that in mind, Alex laid back on his bed, unfastening his leg with fatigue-numb fingers. “My day was a little on the long side too, staff meetings and avoiding Flint. But I’m home now, getting ready to start my evening PT. Did you make it to bed yet? Is Max with you?”_

_“You think I could pry him from my side after that heartwarming story?” Michael scoffed. At least he wasn’t alone, and despite the sarcastic words, Alex couldn’t hear any complaint in Michael’s voice. “Foster care fun aside, this is his favorite part of the day; he likes how my head feels inside when I talk to you.”_

_“Sure that’s not the booze?” Alex joked gently._

_“The booze is just my poor substitute for the real thing.”_

***

“You had a lot going on,” was all Alex could say in response to that. “And I wasn’t able to be there for you, living so far away at the cabin.” 

Guilt wasn’t rational, he told himself. The miserly bean-counter in his head wouldn’t have been any more merciful to him even if he had managed full-time leave. He had duties on base to fulfill that also kept Michael and his family safe, and besides, from what Michael described of some of the sessions with Max, they could be just long hours of complete silence in the mindspace. There was no difference in feeling impotent sitting 45 minutes away and feeling the same way standing next to Michael.

In an effort to distract himself from too familiar heavy thoughts, Alex reached for his dumbbell to start his upper body exercises. 

“I wasn’t drinking more because you weren’t there, Alex,” Michael observed from the bed quietly. “And I didn’t stop drinking because you bought this house and moved closer.”

“I know.” The timing was close, but Alex vividly remembered sharing the news about the house when Michael was several beers into his evening. Between the accepted offer and the closing after final inspection though, Michael had stopped drinking and started talking about attending meetings with Rosa.

He sped up his reps, flexing and releasing the weight with his left arm first. That was the side that did the extra work. The smooth anodized dumbbell was perfectly balanced. A goal he could strive for inside, with his own emotions, that one day he would be able to set down the weights he held inside just as easily. If he never managed that, then at least feel the balance of joy versus grief, victories with defeat.

“I’m serious, that wasn’t on you, and you trying to distract me with your amazing biceps, ain’t changin’ my mind on that.”

Alex paused, caught as always by how well Michael knew him, before he continued his reps.

“I won’t lie,” he continued more seriously, “there was seriously a lot of self-pity drinking going on in Max’s house, when I wasn’t so frustrated that I could have cheerfully murdered him. Showing him what he forgot was hard enough, but then the fact that the pod fucked up his ability to retain what I showed him?” Michael shook his head in remembrance, “I guess it made for a poor man’s exposure therapy on all my shitty memories.”

“You owe Kyle big time for finding the solution to ‘First Fifty Dates Max.’” Alex shifted on his yoga mat toward the bed to tuck his weight set back under the bed, and looked up at Michael from the floor. “And since you’re so anti-threesome-”

“I’m not anti-threesome! Not as a general concept,” Michael protested at the playful poke and then reached to help Alex up onto the bed, careful not to disturb the sleeping Beckett. His telekinesis brought the herbal massage oil to his hand as Alex shifted onto his side to extend his right limb toward Michael’s hands with a sigh. The post PT rubdown with vitamin E and arnica was something they both had quickly grown addicted to and had missed fiercely during their separation. “I’m pro-every consensual sexual activity, but I take pride in making sure that no one leaves my bed unsatisfied.”

Flushed with pleasure, Alex watched Michael’s hands curl around his surgical scars with confidence. With Michael’s assertive unwavering touch, Alex didn’t mind the juxtaposition of whole and clever fingers against the abrupt end of his calf. The self-assurance that Michael had with the physical touch was curiously at odds with his words.

“You’re not against the idea in general, but you are in reality because you’re worried about your performance in bed?” 

Michael shot him an incredulous look, halting his hands on Alex’s thigh. “Are we seriously talking about this?”

“I’m curious, sue me. Like you said before, I’ve always thought you were sexually adventurous and confident in bed, like way more than I am. I’m fascinated with the idea that there’s something Michael Guerin is unsure about.”

He hummed in response and picked up where he left off in massaging Alex’s thigh, tucking his fingers under the edge of his shorts. “Listen, we can play out these hypothetical scenarios all day long, with famous people or with people we know, but it doesn’t change the fact I can’t picture having you in bed and not wanting to focus only on you. That means I’m leaving someone else out and as you know, I don’t handle it well when I don’t think I’m contributing enough to whatever-”

That was certainly true. Alex knew some of the tensions of the last four months between them revolved around Michael believing that Alex was doing too much for him without getting enough in return. The bruises from his recent arrest at the Wild Pony were gone, but the hunger for purpose would always be there in Michael.

“I dunno,” Michael continued, moving up to Alex’s right hip and skimming his hands under the silky fabric of his close-fitting shorts. “Maybe I might have been up for it back when I thought I had to take whatever scrap of you that I could get. I know you were joking about it, but if this something you want-”

“No, and I don’t object in principle, but in reality? I like it when I’m your sole focus.” That was probably putting it mildly, as he practically purred at the feel of Michael’s hot hands working all over his body. The no hesitation with his scars, the keen focus on Alex’s every gasp, the way Michael cataloged every sharp intake he made when something felt good, why would Alex want to share that with anyone? 

“Good.” Michael slowly drew his hands away, patting Alex’s bare stomach affectionately. He dropped a quick kiss on his lips, before rolling to the other side of the bed to finish off their nightly routines. A muffled woof escaped from Beckett, as Michael scooped his arms under the sleepy pit bull on their bed. It brought a smile to Alex’s face as Michael soothed the dog with a sweet, silly voice as he tucked him into the large kennel crate in corner of the room, “Time for all good pups to find their own bed, buddy, so your daddy and I can have adult activities…”

Alex wondered if this was how the Deluca women felt seeing the future. That maybe he was watching a vision of Michael a few years down the line play out in this moment, that he would be hustling a child to bed one day. Was that something Michael wanted? Was it something, more importantly, that he wanted himself? 

The tentative feeling that maybe he did, maybe he could have it all, tiptoed through his mind again. There was still the hidden ring box and the proposal to consider when the time was right.. 

Michael clicked off the lights and slipped into the sheets bare of clothing, a habit that Alex did not discourage in any way. Despite the hum of awareness from the massage and Michael’s words earlier, he merely settled against Alex’s back, snaking an arm around his waist. “Definitely missed this,” he murmured into Alex’s neck, laying a kiss on the vulnerable skin.

“Me too.” Then because Alex couldn’t help himself, he had to ask, using the dark for courage, “After I moved your trailer to Max’s, that was a genuine offer I made. I could have slept there and commuted to the base. We could have had more of this over the last couple of months, as Max recovered.” 

In the early days it had made sense to just shuttle more clothing to Michael, then his new guitar, while Max had balked at having more than a five foot tether. However once Liz and Kyle had isolated the issue of new memory formation, and had formulated a treatment, Michael had gained the freedom to make shopping excursions on his own, even the freedom to have a meal at the Crashdown with Alex. Moving the Airstream from the cabin to Max’s had been one more benchmark of progress, allowing Michael a little privacy in the evenings.

The tone of their nightly phone calls changed almost overnight from informative to filthy. 

Laying there in the dark during that lonely time, Alex’s heart had pounded painfully in his chest, the constriction creeping like ivy wrapping around his throat with his helplessness at their distance. That had been a special level of hell to have to watch, Michael crashing from one disappointment, like losing his job at the junkyard, to another, like finding out Isobel couldn’t master the handprint bond without Michael’s help. Listening to Michael, as he would make the switchover from breathless pleasure of their shared fantasy to the growing despair of the current frustrating state from his cabin, had left Alex’s tongue bitten and sore. 

The Airstream mattress was thin and unforgiving on his hip and back from past experience, but it would have been a price willingly paid in Alex’s mind. After Michael declined his offer, Alex called a realtor the next day to scout for a house, but he still didn’t understand the whys behind Michael's decision in turning him down.

“I thought about saying ‘yes’ to you when you offered.”

“What stopped you?”

Michael tightened his arms around Alex, huffing quietly in the dark. “I couldn’t. I thought you were givin’ up too much for me already.”

“Michael-” Alex swallowed down the rest of his words, along with the rise of an old and tired argument. Running into Michael’s abacus of favors that governed the barter system of how he thought relationships worked was exhausting at times.He had made it clear to Michael at seventeen that he didn’t operate like that, “ _Sometimes people are nice for no reason.”_

Love didn’t belong on a balance sheet of earnings and expenses.

As if he could sense the line of Alex’s thoughts, Michael responded quickly, “I know, sweetheart, I know how that sounds and I’m workin’ on that fucked up part of my head. I promise I’m not tryin’ to restart that argument. I know I say ‘no’ to things ‘cause I think I don’t deserve them, and I get that it hurts both me and you when I do that.”

“It does hurt me when you do that, it makes me think you don’t trust my feelings for you. Like I’m failing a test, or that I haven’t proved to you that I’m here because I want to be-” Alex cut himself off, taking a slow deep breath instead and let the compulsion to stoke the embers of an old pyre, stacked with words about earning or deserving love, fall away. He bought a ring because of this feeling, the urge to prove himself, and it was still stashed away for the very same reason. 

He heard Michael start to mirror his own deliberate breaths, matching the rise and fall of his chest. This was the hard part, where they used to fall into apology spirals that never led anywhere. The other impulse, that he could feel bubbling under his skin and was practically leaping off of Michael like a static bite, was to soothe the hurts with sex. 

Letting pain breathe on an open phone line had been a hard won skill but letting it happen in person was like playing on the expert level of a video game. 

“You haven’t failed and you don’t have to prove anythin’ to me. I know that. I know you. Like you said the other day, I don’t have to earn you, and I’m working on believing that.”

Alex stayed quiet, listening to Michael’s soft voice in his ear and soaking in the inhuman heat warming his back. 

“And workin’ on me started when I stopped drinking. It’s why I’ve held off on using acetone,” Michael confessed gently. “I never learned how to say ‘no’ in a healthy way, for the right things, I just would say it as a way to feel shitty about myself, to keep myself from being happy. So I figure, gotta practice that, right? I don’t want to hurt myself anymore and I definitely don’t want to hurt you by extension.”

The explanation matched many conversations Alex had had with his own therapist about the need to learn how to set a boundary, without the boundary becoming another tool in the arsenal of self-sabotage. Sacrificing his needs to make someone else happy had been a hot topic for months in counselling, especially after he relocated to Roswell. 

“Can I?” Michael finally asked, breaking the stalemate.

“Yes.” 

Alex turned over to meet Michael’s mouth easily, letting him break the bitten seal of his lips, licking deep into the kiss. His hand came up to cup Alex’s cheekbone, guiding the kiss and pouring his devotion into the kiss, like water from a font, baptizing them. Alex groaned quietly in the back of his throat as he surrendered to the slide of their lips together

Slowly the kiss softened until Alex broke it, keeping his forehead pressed against Michael’s. “I want you to know, I made that offer for me too. I wasn’t giving up anything other than a thicker mattress.”

“I know that _now_ ,” Michael smiled crookedly, “I had my head up my ass then, focusing way too much on how shitty my situation with Max was that I lost sight of the fact that you were having a hard time. I know I fucked that up, pushing you away.” 

“I needed you,” the words slipped out from Alex as he buried his fingers into Michael’s curls, holding him in place. “I know you couldn’t have fixed it, even if I could have ended every day like this. It was just so fucked up back then.”

“Because of your dad.”

“Yeah.”

Alex could feel the gentle rise of Michael’s brow against his, the entreaty in his voice, “You didn’t want to talk about it then, but can you tell me now?”

He swallowed and nodded weakly, but then he turned back away from Michael to face the bedroom door, letting Michael slide his arms around his chest to spoon against his back once again. Warmth spread inside at the easy care Michael took, six months ago he would have seen Alex’s move away as a personal rejection. The little victories.

*** 

_His father looked small in the hospital bed, his wrists wrapped in reinforced restraints. An MP attached to the Project security on the Roswell base was posted just outside the door. Alex made no move to enter the room despite the aborted movement by the MP to step aside._

_A styrofoam cup filled with coffee so black that there was a shine of bean oil on the surface appeared in Alex’s peripheral vision. Alex wrapped his fingers around the cup and silently followed Kyle down the hall away from the airman guard._

_“Restraints are a nice touch,” he commented softly, taking a sip from the cup._

_Kyle swallowed a smile, and tapped on his medical chart. “Standard procedure for a combatant non-verbal patient.”_

_“Non-verbal? Still? He’s been out of that pod for a week or more, right, and he hasn’t spoken?”_

_“Well once he regained consciousness after my mom’s new patrolman brought him in, he promptly had another panic attack. This time he slugged the attending doctor who was examining his throat, so the restraints and sedatives were brought out. They’ve lightened the sedation but kept the restraints. So far they think he’s having some sort of psychotic break.” Kyle kept his voice low, as he guided Alex toward the surgical resident floor. “Your brother Flint showed up yesterday, he’s trying to get your dad transferred to the base clinic, but the psych attending is refusing to release him.”_

_Alex took another long drink of coffee, draining the cup quickly. Kyle raised his eyebrow in surprise at the quick dispatch of caffeine. “I’m not sleeping great and it’s been a long morning already,” he shrugged in answer before turning back to the matter at hand, “I’ve released a preliminary report to my superior, that it appears my father was being held in a pod, presumably Noah’s, until some unknown event released him with these side-effects.”_

_“Close to the truth but not quite.”_

_“Exactly. I’m going to need your help though moving Noah’s pod to the area where that patrolman picked up my dad.”_

_“What, seriously?”_

_“It’s either let the Air Force find Noah’s pod, or they start combing the entire area with drones looking for it and they find something we don’t want them to have. We’ve got technology that can sniff out C4 or semtex if you shake a bomb maker’s hand too long. You can bet they have narrowed down the components of the pods and can do the same thing. Best way to stop a search is to give them something to find.” Alex crushed the cup in his hand and threw it in the trash with an easy one-armed movement._

_There was a gritty feeling behind his eyelids, reminding him that his brief description of ‘not sleeping well’ barely covered the extent of his sleep disturbance. The second night without Michael, Alex had gone back to his prescribed Prazosin for insomnia related to PTSD. He awoke the next morning cotton-mouthed, with his phone showing him a pair of missed calls around midnight and 1 am from Michael. The whispered voicemails were short, apologizing for bothering Alex but Michael couldn’t sleep thinking about mundane chores that were being missed, like the trash run from the cabin or the weekly grocery store trip._

_Check-ins that thinly masked Michael’s insecurity._

_Kyle steered Alex into his small, broom closet of an office, stopping briefly to fetch two fresh cups of coffee. He nudged the only chair over to Alex, and took his own seat on the top of the desk. “I’ve got an overnight shift today but tomorrow morning we can move alien pods and re-decorate a serial killer’s cave. That sounds like a much better use of my time than sleep.”_

_“Forget it then,” Alex snapped, the blithe dismissal in Kyle’s voice stretching the taxed patience he had too far. He struggled to get to his feet, already sorry he even sat down with his prosthesis. “I’ll figure something out-”_

_“Whoa, hey,” Kyle leaned forward, catching Alex’s shoulder with one hand to urge him back down. “I was kidding, relax. Of course I’ll help you, and not just because I’m the only one with a six pack who’s not babysitting our alien savior.”_

_The momentary anger drained as quickly as it was sparked under Kyle’s easy going smile. Interrupted sleep patterns always worsened the mood swings and anxiety spirals in his PTSD, which Alex would have been prepared for had he slept more than three hours the night before. The chicken and the egg of self-care in his post-IED life._

_“Sorry,” Alex gritted out, taking another swallow of strong coffee. “I’m not-”_

_“Sleeping well, you mentioned already,” Kyle finished with a critical scan up and down of Alex. He used his own cup of coffee as a shield against Alex’s flat stare and slipped into doctor-mode, or was it friend-mode. “Is this job, family or alien-related insomnia?”_

_“Yes.”_

_Kyle gifted Alex with his own flat stare but added a perfectly sculpted eyebrow raise to it. “I could say I have all day to get this out of you, but I actually don’t. However, Rosa has decided I’m the cool sibling since Liz is back in her Max-only focus, so I can and will sic her on you. No doubt Rosa will bring Maria in on it too.”_

_“Come on, I answered your question honestly. Yes. It is job, family and alien-related.”_

_Kyle took a satisfied sip of his coffee, glancing at his watch. “Well your job is classified, I’ve got your dad in restraints on the psych floor, so let’s talk about Guerin then.”_

_Alex started to answer before he heard the booming echo of General Leighton’s voice in the hallway outside Kyle’s office. “I’m going to need to speak to the person in charge, that man has intel in his head, valuable intel-”_

_“Fuck,” Alex muttered before glancing quickly at Kyle. “That’s the head of Project Shepherd, and my boss.”_

_It didn’t matter how deep his sleep deficit was, the moment he heard the General’s voice, every sense went on high alert. He squared his shoulders, smoothed down the lines of his uniform and strode confidently outside to intercept Leighton outside of his father’s room as he questioned an MP on the individuals who had access to Master Sergeant Manes._

_“Major, I got your message that your father was found. In our business we don’t come across miracles like this.” The General met Alex’s salute with a crisp acknowledgement before looking over his shoulder to the white coat presence of Kyle Valenti._

_“No sir, we do not. This is a friend of mine, Dr. Kyle Valenti, who has been keeping me updated about my father.” Alex watched as General Leighton sharpened at the name ‘Valenti’ before making a tiny nod of acknowledgement that it was indeed the same Valenti family that served as the Project’s watchdog over Roswell’s domestic matters. “He’s still non-verbal at the moment.”_

_“Hmmm,” Leighton stared steadily at the sleeping figure of Jesse Manes, before turning to them, “How deep is his sedation? This man knows a lot of classified information, I can’t have him running his mouth to every Tom, Dick, and Harry on your feel-good drugs.”_

_“Currently he’s on a minimal dose of Klonopin at the moment,” Kyle filled in before placing his hand on the door knob. After another encouraging nod from Alex, he opened the hospital room for them. He stepped toward the machines and IV stand next to Jesse, taking a quick glance at the chart out of habit, “It’s enough to halt the panic attack he presented with, but not enough to compromise the Master Sergeant.”_

_The sound of voices caused the unconscious man to stir in the hospital bed. Alex swallowed hard as he watched his father blink several times deliberately before sharpening his cold blue eyes first on the General and then to Alex._

_“So far, my father hasn’t been able to speak, but I assure you sir-”_

_“Alex,” Jesse croaked, cutting off Alex’s explanation abruptly._

_The lack of choking sent alarms through Alex, as he exchanged glances with Kyle. “Dad, take it easy, you’ve been through an ordeal.”_

_“Master Sergeant Manes, do you remember what happened?” General Leighton asked, discarding any attempts at gentling the funnel of information to questions about how he felt._

_Jesse glanced at Alex and Kyle before focusing sluggishly on General Leighton’s stern countenance. “I was attacked-” he paused, coughing forcefully. He accepted the cup of water offered by Kyle, who had a mix of the professional distance warring with dislike on his handsome features._

_Any moment and Alex expected his father to say Michael’s name. All the work, all the sacrifices by both himself and Michelle Valenti would be for naught, if his father accused Michael of being an alien. How much time could he buy for Michael to flee to safety if he spun it as a continued homophobic vendetta? There’s no question that their temporary separation would have to be permanent. It would be years before he would be free of the Air Force. Every worst case scenario played out through his mind. He could feel the warning press of a panic attack cresting, fluttering powerful wings inside his chest, as he stood silently in the hospital room._

_“Who? Do you remember who did this?”_

_Jesse licked his lips, taking a rough inhale of air at General Leighton’s pointed question, “I don’t remember, the bastard must have gotten the jump on me, sir.”_

_It was a supreme effort by Alex to remain unmoved in the face of that admission. His experience in showing no emotion or reaction paid dividends as he watched his commanding officer continue to question his groggy but coherent father over the events that he could remember. What Alex had learned was that his father was able to report he remembered coming back to Roswell from Niger to rendezvous with Flint after the destruction of the Caulfield facility, but after that, the trail of recollection was less clear._

_No matter the order of the questions, his father remained resolute in his recall of events. Between meeting Flint to go over the after-action report on the failsafe destruction of Caulfield and the bright lights of the deputy’s car picking him up from the side of the road, Jesse maintained no memory of the time in between._

_Afterwards, General Leighton left satisfied that the alien involved was the deceased Noah Bracken along with a closing compliment to Alex’s leadership over the Project. More scientific advances had been made in communication technology and the cracking of efficient means of clean energy storage under Alex’s oversight than under the eye of Jesse Manes. Profit moved the needle with the military, just as effectively as it did in private industry. Wall street suits and uniforms with gold stars and bars were interchangeable when it came to greed. No one questioned the meager gains and more prevalent losses seen in the biological weapon departments when there were IPOs to back and a bull market to ride._

_His father watched with half-lidded eyes as Alex saluted the General’s departure before clearing his throat to grab his attention. The room was clear for the moment of hospital staff, Kyle had been paged for a surgical consult and the MP was out of earshot standing guard behind the closed door._

_This was it. Whatever game his father was playing would be made clear in the empty room. Jesse never wanted an audience for his blackmail or manipulation, and whatever it was, Alex was ready to pay the price. The building wingbeat of panic abruptly dropped away once he made that simple decision; Michael’s safety came first._

_“Alex,” Jesse paused, licking his lips again for moisture. Unlike Kyle, Alex felt no urge to offer him water from the table next to the hospital bed. “I know you did something to me.”_

_“Dad-”_

_Seemingly frail and weak, he was still able to silence Alex with a single, dark look. “Don’t deny it, I knew my own mind before this and now it’s a stranger. You used the pod on me, didn’t you? You’re making me your damn pawn, you must have touched the pod while having those perversions, and now I can’t even say his name-” He started to cough, loud enough to attract attention, and this time Alex was finally moved to act._

_“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Dad.” Alex cast an eye toward the door where the MP still stood stoically on watch. “The doctors think you’re having a type of psychotic break.”_

_“I know what you did and you know what you did. So whatever story you tell yourself about me, know that I never violated your mind.”_

_“No, but that’s only because I was a child when you got the green light.” Alex squared his shoulders, feeling the cold sink down his fingertips as he stared his father down. “That’s right Dad, I found out about the request you made in 2004. So if my handling of the pod has moved you an inch closer to being a decent human being, I stand by it.”_

_Jesse was quiet, his skin close to the shade of white matching the plain hospital-issued bedsheets. “I didn’t know you had it in you to do this, you’ve finally made me proud, son. I don’t have any other choice but to follow your lead now and hope you haven’t damned us all to extinction.” He raised a shaky hand up to his brow and sketched a salute to Alex, “You’re finally ruthless enough to be a Manes man.”_

_***_

From the steady feel of Michael’s breaths against his neck, Alex knew that he wasn’t asleep yet even thought he was silent. 

The words ‘I’m sorry’ hovered again at his lips. For as much as he had urged Michael to open up and share with him the struggles of his reliving his childhood memories, the same could not be said of Alex. He had offered minimal information about his father on purpose. The weak excuse was that raising the subject when he heard just how exhausted Michael was from talking about the past with Max or worse, when it wasn’t exhaustion in Michael’s voice but the softened vowels from too much acetone, was just that, an excuse. What could he say? ‘ _Yes, my father is awake and verbal, but not to worry,’_ Alex thought bitterly, _‘he’s been mentally stripped of all desire to hurt you in particular.’_

At first it had been too good to be true, but then Isobel managed to visit the outpatient rehabilitation center and pulled Jesse into the mindspace to confirm it. The pod had left a mental compulsion to protect Michael. Everything else, Isobel had reported with a twisted expression of disgust, had been left intact for the most part. Jesse still thought Alex was a disgrace to the uniform, vulnerable to his sexual ‘perversions’, and the vendetta against the future threat of invasion and colonization by a superior species was still completely untouched. Michael was Jesse’s reluctant exception.

The knowledge sat uncomfortably inside Alex, heavy and twisting. Finally a real Manes Man.

“I’m not mad, Alex,” Michael whispered in the dark. “I’m not mad that you didn’t want to talk to me about what’s going on with your dad.”

“You should be. That’s why I didn’t say anything, you should be mad, or at least disappointed in me, like I am.”

“What?” Michael’s arms tightened around Alex, before he pulled at Alex’s shoulder to urge him to turn back over to face each other in the dark, “Sweetheart, no, why would you think that?”

“I should have wished him dead,” Alex confessed, his voice thick as he slowly shifted to meet Michael’s eyes in the shadowed dim. “I hate him, I hate him so much for what he did to you when we were kids, and then after with Caulfield. But for some reason, that damn pod didn’t pick up on that. He’s alive, walking around, when your mom isn’t and it’s my fault. I think on some level, I still love him, _what is wrong with me_ -”

With his left hand, fittingly, Micheal reached up and clasped Alex’s jaw gently, brushing his calloused thumb whisper soft against his bottom lip, smoothing the indent of teeth marks. “I never doubted you, I know you hate him for what he did to us. I kinda wish you hated him for what he did to you, alone, but love, it’s okay that the pod didn’t kill him. There’s nothing wrong with you that it didn’t find that inside of you.”

“I feel so guilty, I’ve done the thing he threatened to do to me. I’ve violated his very core, as rotten as it was, and changed him to my benefit.” It was too much to think about, as tears didn’t bother to threaten, instead they burst forth, dripping down Alex’s face uncaring of his wishes. So very apropos of any discussion of Jesse Manes.

“You are not like him.” Micheal leaned in, stroking at the damp tear trail that snaked close to the bridge of his nose and retracing his touch with his lips, “You didn’t know, you didn’t learn about what the pods could do until after we put him in one. That’s nothing close to what he planned, okay? Not even in the same fucking time-zone of his little proposal about you. He knew what he was doing when he lobbied for permission. He wanted a fucking rubber stamp of approval to get a new, straight kid to his specifications. So please, please don’t blame yourself for this-”

The undeniable fact was that Alex always had that voice inside, whispering, ‘You should have known’. It was why he couldn’t approach a subject blind, why he was so committed to researching and gathering every shred of information before acting. Clear and unequivocal forgiveness from Michael undid what infirm control he had, as full-bodied sobs broke over the edifices of restraint.

Swiftly he was gathered into Michael’s arms, his face finding the comforting hollow of his throat. “I’m sorry,” escaped before Alex could stop himself, spending that last chit. All the effort expended to keep himself from falling into that bad habit of apologizing for something that wasn’t his fault, and he wasted it in a moment of weakness. Typical. “Fuck, fuck, fuck. Goddamnit, I can’t believe I said-”

“Shhhh, sweetheart, it’s okay. I’ll give you a mulligan, okay? Your dad is a rough subject for us both, it doesn’t count okay?”

“No! We made these rules for a fucking reason, and now-”

“Alex, it’s really okay-”

Furious, helpless but also so grateful for Michael, Alex swallowed down the next five or six words that hovered in his throat. He let Michael soothe him, soaking up all of the love and gentle absolution in his touch as he fought to regain control again. Long minutes past, as he pressed his wet eyelids into Michael’s too-warm skin, savoring the comforting rough scratch of stubble against his face. “I love you,” was all he could say.

Without missing a beat, Michael murmured into his hair, “I love you too, sweetheart. I had no idea you were carrying this heavy weight. I’m sorry too, I let you shoulder this alone, and I should have known when you kept changing the subject.” As if he could feel the protest building inside of Alex, Michael pressed a kiss against his lips, “See? We’re even now, love. All our apologies spent, both of us stuck in the muck of ‘should have known’ together.”

“Goddamnit,” Alex cursed softly in the twilight. “It’s not your fault, I should have said something.”

“Nope, we’re even now, Alex, no additional should-haves allowed.”

He turned onto his back, and guided Michael’s body until his weight covered him completely. Held down firmly, there was no disappearing into dissociation that was his habit whenever his father was the subject. “I wish I could leave him to rot in that rehab center and hope the pod effects are permanent, but I can’t really take that chance. At least General Leighton agreed with me that we couldn’t trust that the pod hadn’t turned him into some sleeper agent, so he’s being forced into medical retirement. There’s zero chance of my dad activating the military against you.”

“Guess that’s a victory.”

“Yeah.”

Michael was quiet again, before lifting his head up to meet Alex’s dark gaze, “I wish you didn’t have to see him again, but you don’t have to do this alone, sweetheart. I’ll go with you, I’m not afraid of your dad, if the effects of the pod wear off, well, I’m comfortable with exploding his brain.”

“No!” Erupted harshly, before Alex amended gently, “thank you, but no. I appreciate that offer, really, but I can’t handle you and him in the same room, Michael. It takes me back to the shed, and-”

“Okay, okay, I get it. I mean, I don’t like you making these trips to see him alone, that’s something _I_ can’t handle. Can we compromise, and say, you take Kyle with you?”

“Kyle huh?”

Michael laughed at the dry question, his chest shaking slightly against Alex’s, “Don’t give me shit about this, I will admit I was wrong about him, okay? He has his uses, and he’s handy with a needle. Plus one time, he put your dad into a coma-”

“Not just that, he was also rooting for us to get back together,” Alex replied, shifting upward to find Michael’s lips in the dark. The weighted curtain of sadness skirted over his body after the emotional crash that came from crying. It was a fine line to walk between lancing poisonous thoughts and using pleasure to drown out the pain, but he needed Michael. “He kept telling me to nut up basically.”

“Nut up huh?” Michael accepted the kiss sweetly, keeping it light until Alex swept his tongue firmly against his. He pressed his hips downward, catching Alex’s hardening cock with his own. The kiss switched from conversational to a direct query of intent as Michael fully caught the swift change in mood. Alex smiled against his mouth, and skated his hands down to Michael’s back to rest firmly against his ass. The light touch between his cheeks answered that thought unequivocally.

Telekinesis brought the lube from the drawer and after that, no words were needed between them.

* * *

A soft whine woke Alex first. In the night, he had rolled over and found himself draped over Michael’s body. With his nose buried in Michael’s curls, the spicy scent of conditioner squabbled with the green taste of rain in his senses. The whine repeated quietly from the corner. Alex felt Michael twitch to go answer the sound of distress, and without conscious thought, he clamped down on his grip.

Michael chuckled softly, before extending his hand toward the corner of the room, “it’s okay sweetheart, I’m not goin’ anywhere.” There was a sound of a metal click, and then the tinny yawn of the french door swinging open in the quiet. The click of claws from Beckett passed by the bed before heading outside to their patio and fenced backyard.

“Neat trick,” Alex mumbled into Michael’s neck.

“Works for our dog, but when it’s an actual kid-” Michael stopped abruptly, the embarrassment almost tangible between them at his revelation.

The sudden tension under Alex’s arms brought him fully awake and he pulled gently at Michael’s shoulder. “Kid?”

There was a pillow crease fading on his cheekbone, most of his curls were defying gravity but it was Michael’s eyes that caught Alex’s attention fully, wary and uncertain at first before strengthening into a firm resolve. “Yeah, kid or kids. I want a family. With you. I mean not now, obviously, probably not tomorrow either, but yeah. Some day.”

“Oh.” 

“Yeah, oh.” Michael lifted his hand to gently run his fingers through the soft dark locks of Alex’s hair as they laid together, the conversation muted while Alex processed. Silence used to be a blade, that Michael felt the need to parry away with harsh words in an effort to deflect rejection but, now they could both let it be. It was filed under things that Alex needed, like clear footpaths and allowances for the unpredictable pain days. 

“Okay, kids.” Alex tilted his head into Michael’s clever touch and bit his lower lip in thought. Having kids had always been an abstract idea in the past, something for people who were less screwed up than Alex was, but recently the thought had brushed the surface of his mind. Watching the infinite care and patience that Michael had with Beckett had just been the beginning of a passing fantasy, he had no idea that Michael’s own mind was running down that path as well. But it was. Michael wanted a family with him. 

The honest truth was Michael would be an incredible father. Surely Alex could muddle through with just following his example? Or by deliberately not doing anything his own father had done to him growing up, though that was such an easy bar to clear. 

“I don’t know if I’ll make a good dad for a kid, because I barely figured out fostering a dog, but okay. I’m in.” Alex thought about the ring box again, as he leaned up to kiss Michael’s relieved but excited smile.

“That’s because Beckett isn’t a foster, right?”

“Right,” Alex confirmed gently, soothing that swift spike of uncertainty. “Turns out I’m not good at giving up and letting go after I’ve fallen in love.”

“Lucky me,” Michael’s mouth stretched from relieved into outright adoration as he returned the kiss with a fierce hunger. Alex made a muffled sound of surprise as Michael shifted to straddle his hips and deepened the kiss for a moment, before breaking it abruptly. “We’ve got about twenty minutes before Beckett starts making noises for breakfast, so-”

“Oh… oh,” The penny dropped at what Michael wanted. “Talking about having kids gets you goin’ then?”

“Don’t tease me about my alien biology, k?” Michael murmured in his ear, before kissing his throat as he ground his cock on Alex’s stomach, firm and hardening more as the moments ticked by. 

Swiftly Alex moved upward, using Michael’s own weight to flip him onto his back and then braced his knees on the bed. He leaned down to kiss the surprise off Michael’s mouth, rubbing his hips lightly against Michael’s. The kiss muffled his half-gasped moan from Alex’s lips. Was this the honeymoon period without the trip down the aisle, he wondered as he couldn't keep his hunger back for more as he kissed Michael’s throat.

A honeymoon period that stretched for eleven years of bottomless desire and probably would stretch on endlessly, a function without exponential decay. Alex felt Michael wrap his arms around his lower back, widening his legs to meet Alex’s movements. The easy, submissive way Michael melted under Alex’s hands and direction was rewarded with a strong nip of possession on his neck. 

“No teasing, promise.” Alex slid his hands down Michael’s strong thighs, gripping lightly to bare his cheeks to Alex. His head tilted down to study his fingers' path to gently probe where Michael still felt open from their lovemaking. The flash of Michael riding him last night, slow and drunk on pleasure crossed his mind. “You’re insatiable, aren’t you?”

Michael bucked up into the finger, crying out in impatience. “Fuck, Alex, yes.”

“Insatiable,” Alex repeated quietly, “open and wet from last night, and you still want more.”

“I do, always want you.” His pupils blown black with desire, Michael shifted under his gaze with a shade of shyness in his half-lidded offer, “I could take you just like this. You don’t even need to do anythin’.”

Clicking his tongue in thought, he paused as if to consider that offer seriously. Alex curled his free hand around his cock, already leaking freely with precome, and rubbed the head against Michael’s hole. Both of them knew there was no chance of it, but feeling Michael shiver in anticipation fed the fantasy further. “Yeah? You think you can?”

Michael cursed, feeling the teasing press of Alex, and reached to grab his own cock quickly to squeeze himself hard in reaction. “Gonna make me come before you get in me.”

“Can’t have that, can we?” Alex moved away, turning onto his stronger left side and reached for the lube. He thumbed the top open with one hand, squirting a healthy amount in his hand. “That’s my favorite part, watching you come on my dick.”

“Thought this was your favorite part,” Michael swore again, as two thick fingers slid unceremoniously inside him. He stretched his legs wider for Alex, shifting his hips up into the touch, “Drivin’ me crazy with your fingers.”

“Yeah,” Alex breathed in agreement, plunging his two fingers in and down, before returning with three. Michael keened loudly at the brush against his prostate. “I do like this, seeing how many fingers you can take. The way your hole tries to stay tight but then just gives in to me. Bet I can put my hand in you-”

“Oh fuck.” There was something about hearing a shared fantasy get teased in Alex’s on-mission voice that pushed Michael past the point of politeness. He shouted in response, the keening sounds moving into desperate whines as he chased Alex’s clever fingers greedily. “Okay, okay now, you gotta fuck me, now.”

Alex watched as Michael’s cock seemed to get even harder between them. There was a moment that he considered keeping it up, moving from teasing to outright edging Michael until there was nothing but broken syllables coming from him but that would have to wait for another day. Maybe on their actual honeymoon.

Tucking that agenda away, he pulled his hand away from Michael who made a throaty complaint at the emptiness. Alex slicked his cock as dispassionately as he could, keeping his focus firmly on Michael as a means of holding back his own pleasure. He pressed the head of his cock inside of Michael with one hand, before using both hands to grip Michael’s hips for leverage.

Smooth, easy, they fit together perfectly. Alex pressed his face into Michael’s neck, letting Michael’s hands hold his ass tightly against him. The tension of penetration held them even as pliant and encouraging as Michael’s body was. Alex waited, hearing Michael’s half-hitched breaths as he worked through the brief ripple of burn-spark of having Alex inside him without much prep.

“Tick, tock,” Michael teased breathlessly, with a lift upward to urge Alex to move. “I’m ready-”

“Mmmm, and you call me bossy-”

“You are bossy, and I’ll prove it tonight,” Michael promised, his breath hitching in his throat after Alex finally started to press deeper inside him. “Fuckin’ will eat you out until _you’re_ cursing _my_ name, then I’m gonna fuck you like the sadist-”

“Are you trying to threaten me with sex, oh how ever will I survive,” Alex rolled his hips deliberately to back up his answer, leaning down to kiss Michael’s open mouth as they both started laugh at the absurdity. Michael lifted his eyebrow at Alex, meeting the thrust with a dazzled smile, as they found their rhythm together. “But I look forward to it, Michael. Anytime you want me, you can have me-”

Sun-warm bed sheets bunched together, pulling off the corners of the bed as Alex kept up his motions, pursuing his pleasure in Michael. Head tipped back against their bed, Michael let go of his hold on Alex and relinquished control with flattened palms on the mattress. Alex could tell he was close, the sounds and steady stream of precome painting against his stomach. He braced himself on his left leg for stability, as he wrapped his right hand around Michael’s erection, squeezing firmly but slowly as he started to jerk Michael off in time. 

The marriage of balance and telekinesis kept him steady, Alex canted his hips downward, aiming for Michael’s prostate. Michael’s legs inched upward, bracing his feet on the bed to provide his own leverage, “fuck, right there-”

Right there indeed. Alex turned his wrist, stroking firmly and unmercilessly to push Michael past the precipice, until he felt the tell-tale tightening of muscles under his hand. Michael panted below him, with a thread of helplessness in his throat, as he came over Alex’s hand. The spill spread over his knuckles then he let go for stability. He braced his come-wet palm on Michael’s chest, a mimicry of how he marked Alex once, and fucked into Michael hard, rocking the headboard to the wall. 

His own release was right on the surface. Alex bit his lip hard as he sought out his orgasm, drinking in how tight and amazing Michael felt around him. Pleasure licked at his nerve endings, but it stayed just out of reach. Fuck. This hadn’t happened in a while. His body became a stranger for a moment, jarring the ramp up of pleasure, the way a scratch on a record disrupted the song. 

Out of sync, out of key. The next feeling would be shame, it hovered on the edges of his thoughts. Fuck. He bit his lip harder in reaction and desperately tried to find his way back to the moment. 

Michael caught the shift almost instantly, and lifted his palms to cup Alex’s face as Alex let out a rough, frustrated whine. “Alex, sweetheart,” he crooned lovingly in his ear, lighting up the jumbled neurons in Alex. “You’re good, baby, you feel so good, sweetheart, yeah, you can come, come in me, give it to me, I want it, want you-”

The mix of Michael’s voice, a callback to some of their fantasies, and the grounding touch was enough to push back the brief misfire of thoughts. The anchor he needed in that moment of being adrift in his body, Michael pulled him away from that brush of dark thoughts. He came, turning to hide his face in Michael’s as the release swept through him. It was sweat, only sweat, that stung his eyes as he dropped heavily into Michael’s arms. 

Alien-heated fingertips traced down the vulnerable shell of his skull as he caught his breath, chasing away the tingle of cold and disorientation that accompanied the episode. Touch followed taste, the salt lingering on Alex’s lips as he kissed Michael’s ear with a quiet, thankful, “I love you.” 

“I love you too,” Michael replied easily. He stayed quiet, well-practiced in letting Alex tell him what he needed after an episode, and just contented himself in running his hands up and down Alex’s back in reassurance, palms slipping in the sheen of sweat. That careful space in the moment, allowing Alex to find the words if he wanted to use them, was one of the best parts of getting back together. 

It was only a minute or five that Alex allowed himself to stay still, before gently disengaging from Michael. The wet wipes from the bedside table slapped into his waiting hand from Michael’s telekinesis. Reverently he mopped the mess off of Michael, before meeting his soft worried gaze with a half-smile, “I got caught up in my own head, but I’m okay.”

“I know you’re okay.” Michael caught Alex’s hand, threading their fingers together for a brief squeeze. “Tonight, I plan to drive you completely out of your head, but only in a good way. That wasn’t an idle threat I made before.”

“Good, because I have plans of my own for you tonight.”

“Sounds intriguing-” the rest of Michael’s words were cut off by an insistent bark from outside. Through the double french doors leading out to the patio and backyard, a very judgmental Beckett sat staring at them. The bark was followed up with an excited wiggle once he realized he had both of their attention. 

“Someone’s demanding.”

“I used to think this was your house,” Michael began, rolling over to place his feet on the floor. He slipped on a tee-shirt fluidly before tugging up a pair of jeans to his hips, leaving the fly unbuttoned. “I’m starting to think it’s Beckett’s house.”

Alex enjoyed the view for a moment, the dark curls disappearing into his jeans. Goddamnit Michael was going commando. It was way too soon to feel aroused again and he had errands to run. Eventually Michael’s words registered and he frowned, “This is _our_ house-”

“Right, ours.” Michael picked up Alex’s shirt to toss to him, before heading toward the kitchen with a soft whistle to Beckett for attention. “After I feed the beast and you, I gotta head to Sanders. I think if I clean his gutters, paint his house, mow his lawn and wash every car on the lot, he might take me off oil changes and then maybe I can start making some money again. Actually contribute to the mortgage here. For _our_ house.”

Most of Michael’s litany of bribes were listed as a joke. As the last month of Michael’s stay with Max had come to a close, he had waged a charm campaign on Mr. Sanders. From flashing the sobriety chip to explaining he was embracing stability and moving in soon with his boyfriend, a term that had had Alex smiling at random strangers for days, Michael had worked hard to explain away his past behavior. That this time, unlike all the other times, would be different. Privately Alex thought Mr. Sanders had every intention in hiring Michael back, no matter what, but that the old man knew from experience charity never worked. Michael needed to believe he had earned his second (it was probably close to fourth chance) at the garage. So now Michael was hired back at the garage, just unfortunately he was currently at the bottom of the pecking order in repair jobs. It was a split between the boring bread-and-butter maintenance items of the garage and the extremely challenging jobs that required the touch of a genius. 

Selfishly Alex hoped that the probation period was coming to a close, that the more lucrative jobs at the garage were just around the corner so Michael would feel more at home at calling the house theirs. They had survived government conspiracies, almost-dating his best friend, an almost-dead brother, his fucking father, not to mention all of the mistakes of the past, and yet the wedge that had almost split them, had been the purchase of this house.

Money, it fueled so much of modern life, and it certainly could fuel a fight with Michael. 

*** 

_“He knocked out the power again to the house, so I spent my day upgrading the electrical panel and installing lightning rods, grounds for any excess voltage and dielectric transistors. If this doesn’t work, I’m ripping out all the power to the house and we’re going full on Amish. He can read his sad Russian literature by candlelight.”_

_Alex sat at his computer with his phone on speaker as he browsed listings for Roswell real estate, while Michael gave his latest story about Max. “What brought that on?”_

_“First memory of Liz sharing a set of earphones according to Isobel. She and Liz spent some time in the mindscape going over elementary school with him. The treatment they came up with for his memory formation seems to be working though, Max is retaining more of what he’s shown,” Michael sighed on the line tiredly._

_“Liz and music set him off?”_

_“Oh yeah, newborn baby fawn Max is still all about Liz Ortecho. But I don’t blame him, I’m kinda the same way when it comes to love.”_

_Alex stopped scrolling as he email pinged with a response from his realtor regarding his offer on a house. Success. Pending inspection and financing, they were eager to move forward with the sale. He bookmarked a few listings and sent them on to his agent. No point in not being prepared for rejection._

_“I mean if I ever get my brain scrambled, you better believe you will be what I hold onto. There’s absolutely no way I could ever forget how gorgeous you are. That ass of yours is etched into my memory, not to mention your dick,” Michael paused waiting for a response, and then continued in the same tone, “then again, there’s Liz Ortecho and her shiny long hair, maybe I’ll scramble Max’s memory again and try my luck with her-”_

_“Wait, what about Liz?”_

_Michael laughed, sounding lighter than he had in a while. “So you are listening to me, I thought maybe the connection dropped.”_

_“Sorry, I’m here, just I heard back from my realtor. My offer was accepted on the house on Rawlings Road.”_

_This time there was silence, long enough for Alex to wonder if maybe this time the connection had been dropped. He kept his eyes on his receiver, the call log tracking seconds as there was no response. Finally, unable to take the quiet, “Michael?”_

_“You’re really moving back into Roswell proper? What about the cabin?”_

_“I’m keeping the cabin, but yeah, it just makes sense for us to be closer to downtown. My drive to the Roswell base would be a little shorter, plus I could see Rosa and Arturo more, the Uber ride from the Wild Pony won’t bankrupt me, then there’s the proximity to your family, Max and Isobel. Once this is all over with Max, you’ll be a lot closer to the garage district, even if you can’t get hired back to Sanders.”_

_Michael was quiet again as Alex laid out his logical reasoning behind the house and the move. “Rawlings, that was the house with the big fenced in yard and flagstone patio right?”_

_Pleased that Michael remembered the house from a handful of possibilities that he had sent over, Alex nodded even though he couldn’t see him, “Yes, it is close to Max, close to the auto shops, but it’s not a Stepford neighborhood like Isobel lives in-”_

_“That house was on the market for over three hundred thousand, Alex.”_

_“With a thirty-year fixed mortgage, the monthly payment is around $1500-”_

_“Thanks, I can do the fucking math! That’s not the point-”_

_The very real anger in Michael’s voice stopped Alex in his tracks. He had done his best to keep Michael involved in the house search through emailing listings and texting him pictures of the various options, but with Max still frying electronics and grudgingly allowing only a ten foot tether it was impossible to have Michael tour the houses with him. “All right, what is the point? Do you not like the house?”_

_In the background he could hear Michael take a deep noisy breath, and then the snap pop hiss of a can opening. “Of course I like the house. It’s perfect for you, it’s got everything you need. The bathroom is big, with a tub and a shower, and enough space for handrails. It’s a great house.”_

_Quietly, Alex replied, “But it’s not perfect for you.”_

_“You can’t make this big decision with my needs in mind, okay? Sorry, you can obviously do whatever you like, I get it. But when you start talking like this is going to be our house, you have to pump the brakes on that, okay? ‘Cause I can’t afford it. I’ve got less than nothing, Alex, certainly not the stupid twenty percent downpayment.” Michael made a soft, bitter laugh and paused again, the audible sound of swallowing echoing from the receiver. He was drinking again, Alex realized dimly._

_“I know that money is an issue.” That was the understatement of the year. Alex remembered vividly the stalemate over the tailored suit for his promotion ceremony, to say nothing of the push and pull over the grocery budget and utilities for the cabin. It rocked his confidence to learn that an issue had been settled only to find out just how wrong he was. To be fair, he had used a work-around to dodge the issue last time with Michael, relying on Isobel. A house was a purchase that would be impossible to hide._

_“It’s only an issue because I don’t have any.”_

_“Well I do have it. A lot of it. Some of it I inherited from my thoroughly shitty family, and some of it I made by getting shot at in uniform, two things I know you hate, but Michael- I want to have a home with you. I want to use this money to make that happen.” Alex swallowed hard, cursing silently that they were having this conversation on the phone. “I know you’re thinking about the future financial costs here, but I just want you to think about the future period. Do you see me there? Are we together?”_

_“Yes, of course-”_

_“That’s what I see too. You and I together. I’ve had that dream for so long, okay? Since we were 17. Back then all I could offer you was a cheaply built shed that had no insulation and one power outlet, and we both know how that turned out.”_

_Michael was mute on the other end of the phone, the pop-snap hiss of another can broke the silence._

_“I want these things, a real house,” Alex admitted into the stillness. The confession, as true as it was, still had to contort and creep through the thick layers of being told he couldn’t have what he wanted. The cracks were widening, the gaps that his desires needed to squeeze through required less force these days. Visiting his father at the rehab facility, listening to him test the loopholes of the pod’s compulsion with vitriol toward Alex and the vague alien threat, had the twin effect of both bleeding strength but refueling his resolve to be happy. “When I first got back to Roswell, I still had that voice in my head telling me I was wrong, that who I loved and how I did it was something to hide, and I know I took that out on you. Which just fed the shame, honestly. I was hurting you, hurting myself, so back then, it was okay that I was hiding out in Jim Valenti’s cabin. But now, I’m finally at a point in my life where the voice in my head is telling me I’m allowed to be myself. And I’m my best self when I’m with you.”_

_When he finally spoke, Michael’s voice was thick with emotion, “Sounds like you’re buying us a house then.”_

*** 

“Oh god, right there!”

“Yeah? There?”

“Fuck, yes you dick, _there_ but harder.”

“I don’t want to break you.”

“Don’t worry about me,” Alex panted, his eyes closed in pleasure. “I can take whatever you dish out.”

Michael laughed, and reapplied his efforts at the other end of the couch to rubbing Alex’s foot. He pressed his thumbs along Alex’s instep firmly, digging into the path from the ball of his foot to heel, watching Alex’s face intently for clues on the amount of pressure. “As I was saying before you started up with the porn noises,” he teased. Alex lifted his hand to flash his middle finger at Michael without looking. “I never did my ASE training certification, but I think it’s probably time and it will give Sanders something to advertise about. We’re living in the age of online reviews now that the town is more than half overrun by your base population.”

That comment broke the lazy haze of pleasure abruptly. 

Alex cracked an eyelid from where he was slumped almost flat on his back to check Michael’s expression. It was a strange tug-of-war over how to respond to that. On the one hand, expressing interest in strengthening his background as a mechanic to have a more traditional resume was something to encourage, but on the other hand, listening to Michael with his off-the-charts genius intellect, who was back to constructing a spaceship in their garage, talk about being satisfied with the same schooling that some of the members of football team that shoved Alex into lockers had, rankled. Alex knew Michael was capable of so much more than keeping the farm equipment of the ranchers and secondhand sedans of Roswell in serviceable order. 

Going back to school was a topic that inevitably led back to the old, missed opportunity of Michael’s full ride to UNM, dancing on the same dangerous ground as money and finances, but to a more volatile beat. Their ‘I’m sorrys’ for the month were used up and it was nearly impossible for Alex to discuss that summer without spending one of them over how blind he’d been to Michael’s struggles that were behind his brushes with law enforcement. 

“I have no doubt you will pass any test,” Alex commented finally, and then pressed his left foot into Michael’s hands affectionately for more attention.

“It’s just a stepping stone to more money.” Michael dropped his gaze to Alex’s foot, picking up the massage again as he continued lightly, “More money means I can pull my weight here, and I won’t feel so bad neglecting you while I’m spending all of my off time on my degree.”

Now a thousand percent more alert, Alex jerked his foot from Michael’s grasp, sitting up. He ignored the pull-his-own weight comment out of learned habit, that never led anywhere productive and instead focused on the more important part. “Degree? You’re going back to college?”

“I don’t know if you can call it going back to college if you’ve never started-” Michael laughed, dodging the playful kick that Alex aimed at him, “but yes. I am exploring some of the options out there. I was talking to Torres the other day, he said UNM is setting up a satellite campus here because of the base, and with online school-”

He had so many questions, but he started with the first, most obvious one, “You didn’t tell me Mark called.”

“That’s because he didn’t call, I called him.” Michael lifted his chin in challenge. “Am I not allowed to talk to your friends? I didn’t realize you were going to be that type of partner, Alex.”

“What? No, of course! I mean-” Abruptly he caught Michael’s teasing smirk, and he attempted to give Michael another swipe with his foot. 

This time instead of dodging the feint, Michael caught his ankle firmly, and then tugged Alex toward him on the couch with a push of his telekinesis. Looking up at Michael’s smug smile as he leaned over Alex’s body to pin his legs apart, Alex was shocked anew. This was happiness.

No idle fantasy that he had half-asleep in a Humvee ride between raids in the Anbar Province could compare to this, flat on his back on the sofa, with Michael warm and touchably affectionate as they teased each other about friends and college. Seven months ago at Christmas, he had thought it was a dream. Five months ago as Max had emerged from the pod with more complications than just his uncontrolled powers, he had thought of the separation as a reality check on happiness. In the last month, finally reunited with Michael, he’d stopped waiting for the other shoe to drop. 

Alex was starting to believe that this was just what they deserved. 

“Yeah, we do deserve this,” Michael replied softly, letting Alex know he spoke aloud, “we’ve done the work, and even though the work’s probably never gonna be over for either of us, we can still claim this reward.” His eyes stayed on Alex’s, bright with joy before the inevitable drift downward to gaze at Alex’s mouth. 

Threading his fingers into Michael’s hair, he guided Michael’s willing descent to meet his own upward surging lips in a kiss. He sank into the kiss, the full weight of Michael’s body covering him as he shifted closer to Alex. A sharp pain from his right leg caused him to break the kiss with gasp, his new prosthesis protesting the efforts he made to wrap his leg around Michael.

Immediately Michael broke the kiss, backing his head up in concern as he shifted his weight off of Alex. “Your leg?”

Grimacing he nodded, his hand going to his right thigh to massage the complaining nerves. “New prosthesis, I’m still breaking it in, or it’s breaking me in.”

“All right, that’s it. I’ve already turned our garage into a spaceship workshop, it’s long past time I’ve built you a better leg than what you’re getting from the VA.”

“Michael-” Alex’s protest was to empty air as Michael had already rolled off the couch and disappeared toward their bedroom. He heard the noises of the walk-in closet door opening and then clatter of objects getting pulled out. “It’s really fine, I just have to adjust,” he shouted back to the master bedroom. There was silence. Alex shook his head, meeting Beckett’s eyes where he had lifted his head off the rug, to beat his tail in interest, from in front of the fireplace. “Guess I’m getting a new leg, right boy? Your daddy finally remembered all my complaints about ruining his clothes while he’s channeling his best mad scientist...”

Suddenly Alex went rigid as he realized what Michael was actually doing. 

It wasn’t a change of clothes he was after in their closet. Michael was looking for Alex’s older, cast-off prosthetic legs to use as a guide. Fuck. He swallowed the groan of pain as he rolled off the couch. His bare foot and hard-plastic prosthesis slapped loudly in an uneven melody against the stone floor following Michael’s path to the bedroom. He realized the rummaging noises from the bedroom had gone quiet as he reached the door.

Alex took a deep breath and straightened his spine to summon determination. Once upon a time he had dropped down a dark hand-dug and precariously-supported cellar, connected to an unsecured tunnel in order to locate a Taliban courier’s laptop. He had done it completely without fear. He could do this in his own house. Crossing their bedroom idly noting that Michael had made the bed, Alex reached their walk-in closet. After another deep breath, he pulled open the door. 

Sitting on the floor of the master closet cross-legged, among three different castoff legs, was Michael. He held in his hand exactly what Alex had guessed, a worn velvet ring box with a shining platinum band nestled in crushed blue satin.

“Is this a?” Michael asked quietly, his face was still and closed off.

“Yeah.”

“Oh.”

Try as he might, he couldn’t read Michael’s expression for any clues as to how he felt or what he was thinking as he turned over the ring box between his hands. For a wild moment, even though he had a base physical scheduled in three days, Alex wished he had a handprint on his skin. He hadn’t needed the alien-cheat code as he called it in a while with Michael but he needed something to help him navigate this moment.

Tapping his finger on the bare spots on the box, “You’ve had this a while?” Michael looked up, as Alex nodded in answer. “And it’s for me, right?” 

Alex leveled his best _‘are you fucking kidding me’_ look at Michael. “Yes, it’s for you.”

“But you haven’t asked.”

Now. It was starting to become clear and it probably did look a little suspicious to Michael. Having a ring, having clearly held onto it, and then waiting so long without asking might lead someone with insecurities to wonder if maybe Alex had changed his mind. Jesus. One day he was going to learn his lesson about overthinking things. 

Alex licked his lips nervously, “I was waiting for the right time. I’ve been known to bulldoze the situation with you, if you recall?”

“Do I recall you telling a pair of federal agents they couldn’t search my trailer because you lived there too? Nope, no memory of that,” Michael shook his head pointedly, sending a curl astray into his eyes as he held the ring box tightly. 

“Right.” The relief of Michael teasing him made Alex lightheaded for a moment. “And I know that worked out for us both. I mean, you rolled with it, the story, and then I dropped my new contract on you, and you rolled with that too. Then with the ship piece, Max, this house. These necessities, you faced them and accepted them. Most of the time you weren’t given a choice.” He paused, looking for the right words but they all stayed frustratingly out of reach. “I guess I got stuck in my head that asking you to marry me had to be for all the right reasons.”

Michael planted his left hand on the floor and pushed himself to his feet, still holding the box. The closet was spacious, but at the same time there didn’t seem to be any air in it. Surrounded by Alex’s hanging uniforms, stacks of his own plain white t-shirts, Michael crowded close to Alex, “Tell me all the wrong reasons to marry you.”

“Um, if you had to claim spousal privilege because I got court-martialed? Improving your credit score for a business loan to open your own garage. If you wanted to use my GI benefits to pay for college. To avoid deportation-” Alex stopped talking as Michael placed his hand over his lips, muffling his words.

“Of course you had a list,” Michael rolled his eyes fondly and then dropped his hand from Alex’s mouth. “I walked into that one, didn’t I?”

“The biggest one, the one that scares the shit out of me, is if you did it because you thought you owed it to me.” Alex bit his lower lip briefly, and took another deep, calming breath. “And honestly, I would take that over you saying no outright.”

There it was. The unassailable position of truth, where all arguments against the bulwarks ricocheted to places of hypocrisy, he would take Michael however he could get him, by whatever means. He has known that about himself for a very long time, there was no point in hiding it from Michael.

“How’s your leg?” He asked instead, flicking his eyes down to Alex’s bare prosthetic foot.

Blinking at the non sequitur, Alex stuttered out, “What? Fine, why?”

“Okay, good.” Carefully Michael reached for Alex’s right hand, uncurling his clenched fist to place the ring box flat on his palm. Even feeling Michael’s warm hands curl back over his did nothing to keep the wave of cold from sinking down Alex’s spine at the gesture. Instead of letting go of him, Michael latched his fingers around Alex’s wrist and slowly tugged him out of the closet. 

“Michael-”

“Nope, stop talking.” He kept his grip light but no-nonsense as he led Alex past Beckett, who was watching them curiously from his bed by the fireplace, as they headed for the front of the house. As soon as Michael touched the door knob, the pit bull leaped up and dashed to meet them at the door. “No! You stay,” Michael instructed to Beckett firmly, before tugging Alex again, “and you come with me.”

“All right, if you’re trying to let me down easy-”

“Didn’t I say stop talking?” Michael lifted his eyebrow briefly, before heading toward the parked Airstream at the side of the house.

“I’m just saying, there’s no easy way-” 

“I will gag you, except I will need you to answer something for me. Just shush for a second, okay?” The door to the Airstream swung open from Michael’s telekinesis. He stepped into it, the air stale from disuse and warm from the July heat beating down on the metal skin. Still holding onto Alex’s wrist with one hand, he gestured with his other to flip the thin camp mattress upwards. Nestled between the metal slats was a long, wooden cigar case.

Finally he released Alex and reached for the box, frowning in effort to reset the mattress and bare bed back to rights with his power. Michael took a seat on the bed, and patted the space next to him for Alex to join him.

“I’m going to show you this, okay? Since you seem to be a bit slow,” Michael flipped open the cheap wooden case. There was a faint scent of tobacco, the residue of the past use of the box, but it barely registered on Alex as he looked at the contents.

A bit slow indeed.

There were four small boxes, a soft jewelers bag, and one plain band that showed its modest roots in the black discoloration snaking around it. One by one Alex opened the boxes, revealing the various treasures, a silver band with turquoise inlaid and the stamp of a Dine artist on the inside, a stainless steel band with a musical stanza wrapping around, a traditional gold band that shined in contrast to the tarnished cheap cousin that rattled free. Six various rings, all of them sized to fit Alex’s hand.

The final one had the iridescent sheen of Michael’s consol threaded in the band, and that was the one Michael finally reached for as Alex sat stunned. “So the first one, that cheap piece of junk, I shoplifted that from a Claire’s in Albuquerque after I watched you get on that plane to Basic.”

He flexed his left hand in thought, and then tapped his perfectly straight fingertip on the turquoise ring, “When you came home for Christmas that first year, I drove to the casino on the Mescalero Rez and I won that one. Didn’t even use my powers.” Michael moved to the next box, the stainless steel band with musical notes engraved, “I got this one in summer of 2010. You were back for a month between school details. I picked up work putting in fence posts for the Longs. Sweated my ass off in July while fucking Wyatt Long drove around on a golf cart supervising.”

“You got me a ring every time I came back here? But we always fought-” Over his leaving. 

Following Alex’s thought easily, Michael smiled humorlessly, “Sometimes I got a ring after we fought, sometimes before, when I got word you were coming to Roswell. I’ve wanted to ask you, for a long time, Alex. I couldn’t take it if you said yes because you were trying to make me feel better about you leaving again, or worse, because you wanted me to have all those spousal benefits you rattled off in case you died.”

“What if I said yes because I just wanted to be with you?”

“And what if I asked you,” Michael answered in turn, “because I think there’s no wrong reason to marry you, that every reason under the sun is the right one because I love you?”

A slow smile spread over Alex’s face, as he popped open the ring box still held in his hand. The bare spots on the velvet helped hold his grip secure as his hand shook slightly in excitement, “I would say, that I’m asking first here, so-” Alex plucked the ring from the box and reached for Michael. The distance was brief, narrowing as Michael was already holding out his own hand eagerly, his consol-infused ring offered up in return. Alex steadied himself, “You didn’t just steal my guitar when we were 17, but my heart. Once or twice we’ve stepped from this path, but no matter the direction we’ve traveled, I feel like we've always been heading toward this moment. Now that we’re here, together, will you marry me and make it last forever?”

In the emptied out shell of Michael’s longest-tenured home, where Alex had once barred the threshold with a lie from his hopeful heart, Michael caught Alex’s hand in his, threading their fingers together. The rings clicked against each other, as he moved to kiss Alex, sealing the promise. “Yes.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to my betas, tasyfa and maura. Really, big thank you to ninswhimsy who held my hand right up until the end. This was a true it takes a village story. I have some comments from last chapter to answer that were so incredibly lovely I didn't want to let them leave my inbox. Please know if I take a bit to get back to you, it's because I'm so moved by your kindness and generosity I'm pacing frenetically around, rolling on the comments like catnip.
> 
> I'm on tumblr, lambourngb . Ask box is open to anons as well.
> 
> The lovely Maura made this giftset as well  
> [ Michael, he's always there](https://darlingnotso.tumblr.com/post/632371081900163072)


	25. Chapter 25

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Artwork that was made for my story. ❤️ ❤️❤️<

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Nothing new, yet- just attaching the artwork. ❤️ ❤️ ❤️ ❤️

The lovely Maura made a gif set from Maria's words in chapter 5  
  
  
  
  
  
  
  


For reblogs [ Michael, he's always there](https://darlingnotso.tumblr.com/post/632371081900163072)

And she also made this gorgeous set from chapter 10 and Michael's speech in the truck:

  
  
  


For reblogging purposes ❤️ ❤️❤️  
[It's not dna or stardust or carbon atoms... ](https://darlingnotso.tumblr.com/post/628099508650278912)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have a few more stories in this verse, in progress. The sequel will be out in a couple of weeks.


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